The Soul Barterer
by HelenT
Summary: A tipoff on a ZPM sets in motion a chain of events that pushes everyone to their limits. Facing the psychological games of a truly sadistic enemy it soon becomes clear that a human can easily eclipse the Wraith for sheer evil.


**The Soul Barterer**

PAIRING: None - Team & friendship  
GENRE: Team/Angst/Action/Drama  
RATING: R  
WARNINGS: Dark Themes/Violence/Whumping.  
SUMMARY: Set in current season (3), but independent of any storyline. A tip-off on a ZPM sets in motion a chain of events that pushes everyone to their limits. Facing the psychological games of a truly sadistic enemy it soon becomes clear that a human can easily eclipse the Wraith for sheer evil.  
SPOILERS: Some for up to and including S2, but other than that too nebulous to be worth mentioning.  
DISCLAIMER: Stargate Atlantis and the characters are the property of MGM and the production team. There is no infringement intended and no profit made.  
Also, HUGE thanks to Nike for the wonderful job she's done of beta.

NOTE: Thanks to websites issues, I have nowhere to keep this, so I'm dumping it here. Just to warn you, this story is 72 pages long—you might want to grab some sustenance. I hope you enjoy it.

**PROLOGUE**

There was actually a very good reason why I didn't join Mensa. I don't do outside the box, or paradigms.

Apart from the fact that I don't see the damned point, that kind of thinking makes my head hurt; too damn deep, if you know what I mean. Theorising about why shit happens doesn't change the fact that it does. Poverty won't stop because you're willing to share. War sucks rocks, but it still happens. Kids die horrible deaths, if they're lucky enough _not_ to survive limbs torn off by mortar, or slaughtered parents leaving them to be preyed on by the worst scum imaginable - and there's nothing I can do about it.

So, I zone out.

It's a little trick I learned one day after hovering a hundred ft over a tiny marketplace in some scarred and dusty town in Afghanistan. Trust me, watching helplessly while a bunch of armed militia let loose on a milling crowd of civilians - and being told you can't shoot the bastards because they're not firing on you - isn't good for the soul.

I wasn't the only one that happened to, and it screwed up some good friends. Back then, everyone started to sing the same tune - what was the point of being there if you couldn't do jack about what was going on in front of you?

So, not dwelling and letting everything just slide right past me was my defence, my version of Atlantis' shield. Until the shit really hit the fan. The funny thing was they thought they were punishing me by sending me to an icy wasteland without possibility of parole. They couldn't have been more wrong. I loved it. To my mind, the emptier it was the better. You couldn't get emptier than Antarctica. I was in Sheppard-heaven with nobody to worry about except me.

He didn't get it, but I wasn't kidding when I told General O'Neill that I kinda liked it there. In fact one of the reasons I didn't jump at the idea of coming to Atlantis was knowing I'd be part of a team again. I'd have people and faces to care about, and who the hell needs that crap?

As far as I was concerned, feeling nothing beats the hell out of feeling too much. See, it really was all about me.

I guess I wasn't as dead inside as I thought though. I went, and a second after stepping through the Stargate into Atlantis I woke up from the deep freeze. Damn! The blood in my veins starting pumping in a way I hadn't felt in a long time; that, coupled with adrenaline singing its siren song, teased me out of my lethargy. Scouting the awakening city with the heavy weight of the P90 all-too-familiar in my damp hands was pretty cool, I have to tell you. The excitement was palpable and I saw my own feelings echoed on other faces. From that moment on there was no more kidding myself that the Pegasus Galaxy was simply a bigger wasteland for me to dick around in. I let myself get well and truly sucked in. Big mistake. Mr Nice-Guy made a command appearance for Teyla and her people and pretty much stuck. I do happy-go-lucky without so much as a hitch. Waking the Wraith just pulled me in further. It was my mess and I had to clean it up. More, I was needed, and thanks to being cut off from Earth with a civilian in charge, I really thought I could make a difference.

Lesson one in how to seduce John Sheppard- make me feel needed. God! How pathetic, huh? No, don't answer that, I already know.

Elizabeth understood that, too. In fact, we understood one another pretty well-mostly. As a side note, I figure that was why she was so shocked when she found me reading War & Peace. Hell, I was a little surprised myself, although not so much about my lack of progress. Two years on I'm on page 24. I'm kind of proud I've gotten that far.

Anyway, back to the point of this little monologue: 'the mess', and the fact that a part of me was happy to be eyeball deep in it.

The really fun part was that most of the time the enemy weren't fellow human beings trying to pound the crap out of each other with bombs, bullets and hatred. I could happily kill a Wraith and blow up a hive ship without feeling a damned thing except satisfaction. Well, if you ignore there being thousands of cocooned humans inside the hive ship. That's something I do manage not dwell on. They can't haunt you if you don't know their faces, right?

I remember the Genii though, and I sure as hell know they remember me, but that comes later in the story. I also remember Sumner and Ford and their faces do haunt me. One I shot and the other I lost-God! I hope the kid's not dead.

But, while I feel guilt over being too late, or inadequate as a CO, they've got nothing to do with why I cracked. No, it was something else. A part of me knows I shouldn't have let it get to me so much. It's not like I haven't seen human nature at its stinking worst before. Hell, maybe that was the problem, or maybe I'd let myself get lulled into thinking that having a common enemy to fight would make a difference. I was wrong- about a lot of things and I wasn't alone in that. Elizabeth and I stopped understanding one another. _We don't have the right…can't interfere…it's their planet._ God! The same old bullshit. Okay, so some of it was true and I damn well knew it. Except when it came down to it, I couldn't climb back into my don't-give-a-shit box. 

**CHAPTER ONE**

_A single death is a tragedy,  
a million deaths is a statistic  
(Joseph Stalin) _Courtesy: Eigen's Political & Historical Quotations._  
_  
The Jumper shot out of the event horizon and glided up into the air with its usual grace, cloaking as it did so. Relaxed by what promised to be a mundane mission following a tip on a possible ZPM, John coasted over yet another planet of dark forests and flowing green fields, headed for what the MALP's readings suggested might be a settlement a few miles from the Stargate.

It was mid-afternoon, judging by the position of the sun, and sunny enough to have McKay, who was riding shot-gun this trip, digging out his protective cream. Catching his brief glance of derision, Rodney offered defensively, "Hey! You can never be too careful."

Banking left when the HUD came up to show two groups of life-signs nearby, John considered it a sign of how far McKay had come when he left it at that and didn't launch into a detailed description of how delicate his pale skin was and the damage caused by UV rays.

"Looks like we have some activity ahead," he warned. "McKay how about some readings?" Call him paranoid, but he liked to have all available information to hand when making first contact.

Rodney was already ahead of him on that score and a frown of concentration settled over his face as he scanned the data flowing across his screen. "We have energy readings; faint but definite." Looking up, he squinted through the windscreen at the landscape, "There's a power source here somewhere, and that fact alone puts this planet several steps up the ladder over the last few we've visited." He visibly perked up at the prospect that the 'tip' might have been accurate for once.

There was a grunt from behind them. "You're a technology snob, y'know that, McKay?" Even toneless, Ronon Dex managed to sound intimidating.

Teyla Emmagan was concentrating on the HUD, as was John, and they missed Rodney's retort. "That display of life-signs disturbs me," she said softly, worriedly. "Although I cannot say why yet…"

"I know what you mean," he murmured, alternately checking their course and staring at the readout, trying to figure out what was bugging him about it, too.

McKay didn't see a problem. "Looks like two groups of people headed in the same direction to me, except the slow-coaches taking up the rear are hurrying to play catch up."

Two of the life-signs in the closest group faded as they watched. John stiffened, "That's not playing catch-up, that's pursuit and kill."

As he spoke, they got a visual on the ground. The HUD cleared and gave the four of them an unimpeded view of what was happening in the field below. Sandwiched between two thickets of forest, the field was roughly the size of ten football stadiums. In the middle of it a group of perhaps two dozen men, women and children were running, stumbling and frantically picking themselves up to run on.

Behind them, a smaller group of men in uniform were chasing and shooting. Several bodies already lay sprawled in the gap between those fleeing and pursuing. Making a sweeping pass between the groups, John felt his guts twist. At least one of the bodies was small enough to be a toddler. A horrified silence reigned inside the Jumper.

"Maybe they're dangerous criminals," offered Ronon, although he sounded like he knew how dumb that sounded.

"Women and _children_?" retorted Teyla, rounding on him. "Besides, they look terrified, desperate and appear unarmed. That does not spell dangerous to me."

"How do we know they're unarmed?" McKay sounded unusually subdued.

Coming back around and grim-faced, John answered, "Because if they had a means of defending themselves, I reckon they'd be using it by now, don't you?"

In the few seconds since their arrival the number of fugitives had halved. McKay looked sick. "Good point."

"What can we do?" asked Teyla.

"How the hell should I know?" John snapped back. "We don't know anything about them, or what's going on." His voice was harsh because he knew what he wanted to do, but hadn't reached the point of not giving a crap if it was the right thing to do yet. Reaching a decision wasn't helped by the fact that he was getting flashbacks to a period of his past that he did his damndest to forget; the whoop-whoop of chopper rotors, rat-a-tat-at of automatic weapons fire and screams of the dying and now long dead echoed in his head. Mercifully, the Jumper was sound-proof.

As they watched, a boy of perhaps twelve-years-old broke away from those fleeing to run to the aid of a woman who had fallen and was struggling to rise. The pursuers caught up and instead of wasting more ammunition, one of the men clubbed the boy on the head so that he fell, too. As the Jumper flew closer, the woman held up a beseeching hand, mouth working frantically and obviously pleading for mercy as she tried to rise up enough to cover the slumped boy with her own body. The armed man ignored her and used the butt of his rifle to club them both.

That was all they saw before the Jumper passed over completely. They didn't need to see it, however. Even the dullest imagination couldn't fail to know how that brutal scenario would end.

"Okay, that does it." It was more of a snarl and McKay jumped, startled, and tossed him a queasy glance. "I'm calling this one, and we are _not_ sitting here watching a bunch of people get slaughtered."

Rodney gripped the console as the Jumper came around for a third pass that this time would result in them landing. "For once I agree, but shouldn't we contact Atlantis first if we're going to go to war here?"

"We don't have time," Teyla replied, rising from her seat to dive into the rear compartment and tug down the containers holding the P90s, "By the time we could dial and make contact all of those people would be dead. If we're going to help we have to do so now."

"There's only six of them," interjected Ronon coldly from behind McKay, "That's not a war. We can take 'em easy."

They were too close to use the drones without risking more injury to the fugitives, so easy wasn't an option. "We take them fast," John countered, and de-cloaked the now landed jumper. Teyla slapped a rifle into his hands the moment he got clear of his seat. Closing his fingers around the cool metal, he checked the mag and safety automatically. The weapon felt good in his hands and for once he didn't worry about that unsettlingly comfortable sensation. The boy and his mother played in his head and he had to shut it out, accepting he'd made a decision too damned late again.

o-O-o

The Jumper de-cloaking right in front of their eyes had knocked the soldiers off their stride and into a confused retreat. That changed when they saw the four people emerging from inside. The battle was short, but intense while it lasted. Using the Jumper as cover they had the advantage, and soon six more were added to the body-count littering the green field under a blazing sun.

Once the fire-fight was over, Teyla ran after the still fleeing people, calling out entreaties for them to stop. John, Ronon and McKay warily approached the dead soldiers. One thing caught their attention simultaneously.

McKay found his voice first, "How did these guys get their hands on P90s?"

John felt a coldness creep down his nape to snake down his spine. Shit! It was Afghanistan all over again. "I have no idea, but I sure as hell intend to find out."

Mere minutes later they had the survivors loaded into the Jumper. The dead they had to leave behind. Unsurprisingly, the boy and his mother hadn't made it. During the onslaught, the woman whom he guessed was the boy's mother, had curled over him so that their heads rested together. Still chilled to the marrow, John stayed crouched next to them while Teyla coaxed the rest into trusting them enough to step onto the ramp. Off to the side, Ronon kept a look-out for more trouble. When everyone was on-board, McKay came over and cleared his throat. "We're about ready to leave."

"Yeah."

"We did what we could and saved a lot of people here." McKay sounded unsure of himself, a phenomenon in itself.

_Tell that to these folks._ He didn't say it out-loud.

John knew he didn't dare risk taking his jacket off to cover their mangled faces because of the insignia on the sleeves. He had to just leave them like that. Rising, he dusted off his legs and sucked in a deep breath.

"Let's go."

He hoped the rage didn't show.

o-O-o

Elizabeth hadn't questioned his request to bring back a bunch of refugees. John figured his dead tone might have had something to do with it. He tried, but couldn't snap out of it. The cold hard fact that the men they'd witnessed murdering civilians had been armed with Earth weapons refused to stop circling in his head.

The Jumper Bay was alive with waiting medics when they arrived back. Off to the side to give them plenty of room, Elizabeth waited with her composure wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. She hadn't missed the brief, hurried explanations being tossed between Teyla, McKay and Beckett, and when her eyes met John's as he walked down the ramp they were filled with empathy.

For some dumbass reason he didn't even want to examine, it made him want to to head in the opposite direction. What the hell?! He kept his face blank by dint of effort.

"Rough trip?" she asked simply when he approached her.

The understatement steadied him, exactly as it had been designed to do. "You could say that," he replied, heavy on the irony as he came to a stop a respectable distance away.

Shoving shoved his hands in his pockets, he moved aside as a covered trolley was wheeled away. "We lost one of them en-route," he explained when she gave it a lingering glance.

Something in his voice made her swing back to him with a sharp, assessing expression on her face. He didn't need to be psychic to guess what she was thinking; as awful as it was, these people were strangers and he was taking it way too personally. He wondered how to explain to her what it felt like to have your past come back and slap you in the face? It had been bad enough before they'd found the P90s. There was only one possible source for that rifle and that was right here. He'd lost friends to US-made and supplied RPGs. Then there were the years spent watching innocents suffer while the might of the US Armed Forces stood by and waited for the international community to decide whose human rights were being infringed; the murdering sonsabitches with the guns, or the frozen-faced father carrying his dead kid through smoking ruins.

Not that it mattered worth a damn, really. You knew you weren't doing the job expected of you when the same folks who'd celebrated your arrival as saviours turned around a few months later and started shooting rockets at you.

"What happened today, John?

He jerked himself back into the present. "When we got through the 'gate we came across some soldiers shooting at a crowd of civilians. They got a fair few of them, too, before I made the decision to intervene." John couldn't help thinking that if he'd acted sooner he could have saved more of them.

"I caught most of that already," she replied, wincing anyway. "Do we have any idea why the soldiers would want to do that?"

He shrugged, loosening his shoulders and aiming for casual, "Not a clue." His nod was aimed at the shell-shocked survivors being gently herded by Beckett's people, "I suggest we ask them?"

o-O-o

At his request the debrief was scheduled for an hour later. The quadrangle of the briefing room tables were mostly empty save for two close together and at one corner. During it, John kept quiet and let the others deal with the explanations. Not exactly talkative at the best of times, Ronon kept out of it too; leaving Teyla and McKay to offer up the details. 

When they got to the dead soldiers' weapon of choice, however, John sat up from his slouch and asked the burning question: "What I wanna know is how these guys got their hands on our rifles?"

Elizabeth's brow arched in a mute 'thanks for participating' dig. "As do I, but until I find out more from these people you've brought back, I can't even begin to look for answers."

"You've had no luck with the interviewing yet then?" queried Teyla.

"Gentle questioning has so far yielded very little information, although what is becoming clear amounts to a nightmarish scenario of sickening proportions where slavery, brutality, and abject despair are the order of the day. Nice, huh?"

Rodney swallowed hard and muttered faintly, "Sounds delightful. I won't cancel my vacation plans then."

Nobody laughed, but then he hadn't expected them to.

"Maybe they won't know who supplies the weapons to their 'masters'," John said. "I think we should concentrate on finding out who we have given them to and work that angle."

Elizabeth folded her hands on the table in front of her and reminded him, "That sounds easier than it is. We've lost equipment numerous times off-world and this could simply be a case of scavengers putting them on the black-market. We've already had warnings about a supposed 'wanted list' doing the rounds and featuring Earth technology as well as Ancient."

He had to concede the point. Frustration roiled and he rolled his shoulders again to loosen tight bands of muscle. Puffing out a breath, he mirrored her posture, hoping he looked even a fraction as composed, and tried again, "Okay, so let's find out where those black markets operate from and go knock some heads together and get answers."

She met his gaze directly from across the short distance and he could see the question in them. Green eyes quizzical, she continued to regard him for several beats and then took a deep breath of her own. "John, I don't like the idea of our technology being used to bring suffering either, and I agree we need to look into it, but I don't know how much effort we should put into this investigation." Slim hands were spread in a helpless gesture. "We already have so much on our plate and just because the Wraith appear to be busy fighting each other it doesn't mean we can relax our guard."

"What are you saying- that if the answer isn't at our fingertips that we should just forget this?"

A part of John understood where she was coming from - and hell, even agreed -but another part was coiling tight with anger that she could so lightly dismiss it. Today had hit-no, sucker punched- a button he hadn't known he had, and the need to do _something_ had his hands curling into fists while he battled to keep his expression neutral. 

Expression blanked or not, he couldn't take back the bite in his question and she reacted to it with narrowed eyes and her usual cool logic. "I didn't say that. I'm simply questioning how much time and resources we should put into it when I fail to see what we can achieve when the weapons are already out there." Elizabeth didn't wait for an answer, "However, if you can give me a plan of action that doesn't take away too many valuable resources from our own defences then I'm willing to consider it-"

Ronon chose his timing well. "I know a planet that has a Stargate and a reputation for being a good place to pick up some _unusual_ wares. Although calling it 'good' is relative."

o-O-o 

Every face told a story. The infirmary was packed with the nine new patients and the medical staff needed to tend to them. Elizabeth kept out of the way and simply observed. Concentrated and infinitely gentle, Carson was passing from bed to bed, offering reassurance and checking for this and that while ordering samples and organising the scans of each one. 

Whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been what she found. There was no dissension of any kind to any of the tests. They moved like automatons in any direction they were told to move. More than that, they were stiff with terror, heads down and pale, gaunt faces averted to avoid any and all eye contact. She'd expected grief and maybe some relief, but it was as if these people couldn't, or wouldn't, believe that they were in a safe harbour.

She'd seen it before and the familiarity was anything but comforting. Being a negotiator wasn't always about talking across a polished table while sipping crisp, bottled water. She'd been in the field on many occasions, visiting hospitals and refugee camps and trying not to have her heart broken by what she saw. The people there had all had this deadly despairing air to them, too. Africa, the Middle East and the Balkans, to name just a few, and even if she hadn't been the one sent, she'd heard the details. Wherever there was a dictatorship, you always found the beaten, abused masses being stomped on underneath.

It seemed the Pegasus Galaxy wasn't immune to that human conundrum either. Damn it!

As far as she knew, Carson with his big, kind blue eyes and lyrical Scots burr was the only one so far to have achieved much in the way of communication. When she caught him for a brief update, she had to be satisfied with a terse list of medical conditions all relating to being beaten, starved and worked half to death on a regular basis. She lost track after diarrhoea, dysentery, various respiratory diseases and intestinal disorders.

"…And that's just the physical side of things. God only knows what it's done to their minds," Carson finished, then left abruptly as a tray was overturned with a clanging clatter that threatened to send a few of their guests into a seizure.

Deciding standing around wasn't helping anyone, including herself, Elizabeth left with her arms closed tight to ward off a deep inner chill.

Finding a world that enslaved a proportion of its own population was bad whichever way she looked at it. Apart from the fact that such a society was abhorrent to any civilisation that sought to live up to the title, the fact that a lot of her people were ex-SGC and so had spent years battling an alien race bent on enslaving man-kind meant she could expect tensions to be running high on the topic.

Then there was the fact that the weapons they'd brought along to defend themselves had found their way to that world somehow and added to the misery. John's very obvious aversion to the situation came from a different, but no less powerful, source and given what she knew of the tragic mess international politics had made of most modern conflicts, she could see why. The USA's non-policy of supplying weapons to other governments had come back and bit them on the ass more than once.

She could feel a quagmire opening up under her very feet, and for the life of her she couldn't figure out how to side-step it.

Making her way back to her quarters while Atlantis hummed quietly all around her, she wondered if giving in and agreeing to a mission to Ronon's suggested planet had been a very bad idea.

o-O-o

The planet Ronon had been referring to was a dump. There was simply no other way of describing it. Even the vegetation had given up any attempt to freshen it up and only a few stubborn, straggly weeds braved the blistering sun. The dirt track leading from the 'gate to the ramshackle town was pitted with deep troughs of baked mud; a fact that Rodney complained about loudly in relation to the possibility of broken ankles or snapped necks. You could smell the settlement before you were even close and the pungent aroma of rotten fruit and animal faeces had John's eyes watering. The market turned out to be inside the town proper, and was reached through a narrow alley between two ramshackle single-storey buildings - if you could call them that, given that a good sneeze could probably bring them crashing down.

They had to walk in single file to allow for passing traffic, some with wheelbarrow-type conveyances. Even Teyla was less than impressed. "What kind of a trading operation runs its business in a place customers cannot reach easily?"

"A cautious one," John hazarded, following Ronon who was making way for no-one. "Think about it: if you're selling stuff that other people think you shouldn't, wouldn't you make it difficult to raid?"

A quick apology to a stout woman later, she replied, unconvinced, "I suppose so."

Then they were free of the claustrophobic passage and into a square filled with lines of stalls and animal pens. The cattle John could see looked like a cross between a cow and an antelope, but what amused him were the pigs. Pigs got everywhere it seemed. Other, smaller animals squealed from inside cages. There appeared to be no particular order to the stalls; for instance, metal junk was piled in-between two of the pens with a little man sitting on top and wearing a sort of turban. John wasn't sure, but he thought he could see some remnants of a Wraith dart amongst the scrap.

The lack of superstition about using Wraith technology was enlightening. Along with the sheer noise and the unapologetic stink of the place, there was an air of don't-give-a-shit that John found invigorating. Now all they had to do was conduct their business and not rile the locals. Not exactly a given since, in his experience, having crowds, goods and money crammed tightly together like this was a recipe for discord. One thing in their favour, and especially comforting, was the fact that the stars and stripes on his jacket sleeve elicited not a whit of interest, never mind hostility.

The buildings enclosing the square were stores of some kind, and it was to one of those that Ronon led them through the milling crowds.

If possible, the stench was even worse. "Erm, exactly why did I have to come here again?" queried Rodney, risking the second it took to speak with the handkerchief away from his nose and mouth. "You don't need a scientist, although a hygienist probably wouldn't go amiss."

"Because I would miss you if you weren't with us," replied John, insincerely, going to enter the store behind Ronon.

"Really?"

"No. But you are a member of my team and where we go, you go." Just inside the door, John spared him a scowl. "We've been having this conversation for two years now and, I might add, every time we go somewhere without internal plumbing-it's getting old."

"Yeah, well so am I. And tell that to my sinuses, I can feel them shrivelling in this…" in the middle of his retort, McKay got an eyeful of the woman behind the counter, faltered, and then raised a hand in greeting, "Hi." 

Unsmiling, if bounteous in a tight, low-cut tan leather vest with laces, the woman continued to oil the machete type blade cradled tenderly across one hand. A blonde brow quirked after she'd given Rodney a once-over, swiftly followed by a slightly longer one over John. Teyla she ignored. "What can we do for you folks?"

There was a collective pause, then John managed to wave at Ronon talking with a man at the rear of the store. "Oh, no need to worry about us. We're with him."

"Thank you, anyway," said Teyla pointedly, and got a sneer in response. They moved off, with Rodney needing a poke from Teyla to move his feet in the right direction.

When he gave her a glare, he caught her eye-roll and defended himself, "What? I was merely pleased to see that this planet has some pleasant aspects-oh, never mind, forget it."

"It is forgotten already," she assured him with a smile, widening it as they approached Ronon and the man he was dealing with.

Bald, barrel-chested and easily as tall as the ex-runner, he was as plain and unadorned as his store with its bare wooden floor and walls covered in every type of weapon you could imagine. He grunted when the three of them joined them, glaring balefully at John who was perusing the stock with a jaundiced eye.

With the old west flair of the town and store, coupled with medieval-esque swords, unidentified pistols ranging in size from a derringer to his own side-arm and some Wraith gear, and possibly Genii rifles, it was certainly an eye-opening enterprise. He looked, but didn't see anything remotely like their P90s or other Earth ordinance.

Minding his manners for once, or his version of them, Ronon introduced them.

"See anything you like?" Vernon, the store-keeper, asked John, eyeing his hair in much the same way as Sheppard had his wares.

Resisting the urge to check if it was being more wayward than usual, John pasted on a smile, "Interesting stuff, really." Still aiming for cordial, he nodded at the wall behind the man. "I especially like the Wraith stunners, but as Ronon here has probably already told you, our query is very specific."

"Then I can't help you and you'd best be on your way."

John's smile slipped. "Really? Well, that's a shame considering we've come all this way."

Crossing beefy arms that strained his filthy cotton shirt, Vernon didn't bat a lash. "Other folks have come further and not found what they wanted …can't help that."

Tellingly, Ronon didn't do his usual intimidating crowding of a person not being co-operative. In fact, when John's gaze slid his way, the ex-runner shook his head once, but clearly. Considering the size of the guy, the arsenal a few feet away, knife-girl by the door and the narrow escape route, John didn't need the don't-go-there signal.

Shoring up his smile, John held up his hands. Frustrated or not, the last thing he wanted was to set things off. "Look, I'm not saying you're not being as helpful as you could be, but think about it: we might be able to offer something in return for what is really just a bit of information."

Vernon glanced over John's shoulder to the girl at the counter, then returned his gaze to him with a shrewd light having entered his pale blue eyes. "Like what?"

Considering they were here to stop Earth weapons being sold to just anybody, and prevent a market opening up where Atlantis teams might become a target as a means of procuring stock, John really didn't want to bring weapons into it, but they _were_ in a store that sold arms. "We have something we call stun grenades. They do pretty much what the name suggests and without permanent damage; kinda handy if you're in a tight spot."

Vernon was interested despite himself, "Show me."

Tugging one free of his 'tac vest, John handed it over and warned, "This isn't exactly a great spot for a test, so don't pull the pin."

"That's good advice unless you want to be deaf and blind for the next couple of hours; which I don't," piped up McKay, looking like he wanted to snatch it back just in case.

"Myria!" Vernon called out without taking his eyes off John, testing the weight of the grenade with a suspicious air, "Mind the store."

o-O-o

"You offered him stun grenades?"

The way Elizabeth said it, you'd think he'd handed over a truckload of real grenades. Defensively, John spread his hands, pointing out, "The guy is an arms-trader and I couldn't see him going for antibiotics or disease resistant beans. I went with what he would be interested in, a strategic weapon. Only, one that leaves no permanent damage, is not normally carried by our personnel off-world, and isn't re-usable."

Slim fingers tapped on her desk while she considered it, then asked, "How many did you offer?"

"A boxful, with a maximum of a dozen grenades."

"To be delivered to him tomorrow?"

He nodded, "At which time he'll give us a lead on who's been trading our weapons to Vitus Galan." Seeing her eyebrows rise in question at the name, he explained, "Apparently, he's the head honcho of the planet where we found our new guests. I don't have the details yet, but he has a bit of a _reputation_, shall we say."

"I bet," said Elizabeth feelingly. 

Silence fell as both of sets of thoughts wandered too close to the edge. It was funny, John thought, how bringing slaves from another planet into Atlantis dropped them in an ocean of guilt for the crap that had happened in the past on Earth, and still did in places. Too many modern civilisations were built on the blood, sweat and bone of past slaves.

They can't haunt you if you don't know their faces. Occasionally he had to remind himself of that.

"John?"

Refocusing, he found her looking at him, worry and resolve written on her face. For some reason tension flooded him. "What?"

"Carson told me you visited the refugees this morning."

His face went stiff, and as easily as that the façade he'd been hiding behind all day began to crumble. "I wanted to see how they were getting on. Tell them they were safe."

"Carson also said that it didn't go well…that there were…problems."

It had been a dumb thing to do. He shouldn't have gone in there, shouldn't have tried to talk to them. If he hadn't, he wouldn't be left with the filthy smear of hollow-eyed victims looking at _him_ and seeing the same monsters that chased them, probably even in dreams. They had reminded him of small, trapped animals; watching his hands and face as if trying to guess how and where he would strike at them. Fuck! Was there anything more guaranteed to make a grown man wanna puke than raising a hand to say 'Hi' and having a six-year-old child burst into terrified wails? He'd cut his damned hand off before he'd hit a kid. Lacy Dean didn't count because he'd been a kid too, and he hadn't actually meant to connect and knock her out. He'd been wearing a plaster-cast and she'd been tormenting him with his own bike, getting too close when he made a swipe for the handlebars.

The whole experience had left him with a keen need for a shower; which he did get, in fact, after he'd apologised to the medics and got the hell out of there. He had the same soiled sensation rolling over his skin now. The words seemed to just bubble up and spill out, "I think we can safely say it was really bad idea. They looked at me and saw military, then added two and two together and got scared." His shrug was so tight it hurt his shoulder. "I left as soon as I figured out that nothing I could say or do was going to change that for them."

He wanted her to leave it alone. No, _needed_ her to leave it alone, but also knew there was no way in hell she would. "Look, I won't be trying it again, so you don't-" 

"I'm having them moved to the mainland as soon as possible," Elizabeth interrupted gently. "They have the same reaction to anyone military and it just isn't possible to keep the two apart. The Athosians have already agreed to care for them. I'm hoping in a few months they will have adjusted and come to realise that none of our people mean them harm."

John's chest remained tight. "Sounds good."

Sympathetic green eyes didn't waver from his face. "You can't save everyone, John. This isn't Earth, or even our galaxy. Not really."

For the first time it bothered him that she knew him so well. The abrupt change of topic might seem weird to anyone else, but they knew it was really the same one, just with a twist. Lips twisting wryly, he tried evasion and drawled, "I kinda figured that one out a while ago."

"No, you haven't," she countered. "No matter what's gone on over the last two years, you still want to save everybody, and that's a problem because you end up beating yourself up when you can't."

And risking lives. He knew she knew it, too. The thing was, she was right. But he wouldn't risk the lives of his only friends if he didn't think they could pull it off, and then only if he couldn't pull it off alone. The only one he hadn't yet managed to put directly in the line of fire was the woman sitting opposite him now, and obliquely warning him not to get ideas.

Big problem. He already was getting ideas. He stared back, unwilling to voice them yet. Besides, there was a large and relatively sane part of him that hoped to find a reason to drop them.

The polite tap on the glass panel by the entrance to Elizabeth's office was a welcome diversion. They both turned to see Colonel Steven Caldwell standing in the doorway with a small, quizzical smile on his rugged face as he asked, "Am I interrupting something?"

"No, no, we're about done here." Elizabeth managed a smile. "Welcome back, Colonel."

o-O-o

The med lab was empty of everyone except Carson when Elizabeth arrived. Considering the doctor's grim tone when he asked her to come here, she was dreading what she would find when she arrived. He looked calm enough, if focused on his laptop perched and open on the metal desk before him, with a mug of coffee steaming gently close-by. The bags under his eyes concerned her, though. If he put in anymore sleepless nights, _they'd_ be treating _him_, she thought, and resolved to put a stop to it ASAP.

"You wanted to show me something?" she asked as a fore-warning of her arrival.

Despite it, he jolted at the sound of her voice and his demeanour was of a man rising from the deep as he dragged his attention off work and onto her. He blinked, "Elizabeth, yes, good…" Sliding off the stool, he waved at her to follow him, "…I wanted to show you something I've found on our new guests."

"Found _on_ them?" she queried sharply. Quick-fire, a slew of ideas flew through her mind; ticks, lice, worms, bugs, nanites.

"Ash," supplied Carson and indicated one of his microscopes, "In particular, it's ash from the burning of human bodies.

Elizabeth stared, trying to figure it out, "Human bodies?"

Carson nodded, adding grimly, "Lots of human bodies."

That was too much of a leap for her and annoyance crackled under her skin at the idea that he may be embellishing an already horrific scenario. "Carson, c'mon, how can you tell how many or how few? Maybe they burn their dead on a funeral pyre? It's a practice not uncommon on Earth."

"I found microscopic amounts of the ash in their hair, skin, clothes _and_, most tellingly, broken down in their urine. You don't get that except from prolonged long-term exposure."

The ability to think on her feet, as well as emotively and imaginatively, had been a major part of Elizabeth's job description for too long for her to not get a very unpleasant picture. Ice crackled down her spine, locking each vertebra in place. _Jesus_! "What the _hell_ is going on on that planet?"

o-O-o

The hive ship squatted low in the sky, a dark, deathly grey cloud spouting tiny darts of terror that came shrieking down to scoop them up. Men and women ran, ragged clothes flapping around their bodies, and screaming as if to drown out the alien whine of the chasing silver ships. Sweep by sweep they were gone. More waited below, a mass of wailing humanity. Bare feet trampled over moist green grass, scrambling in a hundred different directions, but it made no difference. Not for the first time, Commander Larym marvelled at the speed and efficiency of the Wraith, even as he gave the signal for the next batch to be herded out of the bunker, forced up the steps and onto the now empty pasture.

It would take an hour to get all of the stock to the surface, and that knowledge made him impatient. He was hungry and the filthy slatterns who served the food were too stupid to realise that they should save the choicest portions for officers.

There was always resistance and it annoyed him that prisoners who had been so cowed only hours before would suddenly become so wild and almost unmanageable. The second batch were herded past him now, and the smell of singed flesh was acrid from the persuasive techniques used to compel them. Stripped of everything except clothing, they stumbled up the stone steps and into the sunshine like cattle, blinking, crying and shaking with mortal terror. Blood streaked some faces from desperate attempts to escape their holding cell. Such a thing was impossible of course, but nails and even fingers could be lost in the trying. The foolishness of it neither bothered nor irritated him. Desperation was always the last, fighting breath of survival felt by those that ended up here.

Once outside, those that were healthy enough would very likely bolt for freedom, hearts probably soaring at the idea that they were free to move for the first time in perhaps months. It wouldn't occur to them that there was no cover for miles around, and by the time the fittest could reach the nearest forest, the Wraith would have returned and taken them first.

The old and sickly always came out last and in this group age didn't matter. No human being was allowed to go to waste; men, women and children who had contracted a disease, or wasted away until it was felt they would not recover, were sent out with the next block, preferably before they could deteriorate to the point of being unappetising to the Wraith. 

The misery and terror didn't touch Larym. Strangely the only ones that did were those who would go out calmly, singing or chanting and holding hands in some pathetic attempt at unity. They did manage to bring some emotion to him; discomfort and dislike because they felt something he could never understand. Every now and then the hairs on his body would stand on end, a sensation he loathed enough to feel an impulse to shoot them- anything to shut them up.

Not that he would ever give into that impulse, because he had to account for every death; sometimes with his own blood if his explanations were deemed unacceptable. The Wraith knew how man they delivered and they expected the same returned as required; discrepancies were not tolerated lightly. Only escapees were open game to soldiers like him, and there were precious few of those to liven things up.

Now, standing in the protected walkway that was separated from the exit corridor by tightly interwoven links of chain, he watched as a skeletal old woman crooned to a gaggle of children. The older ones manfully tried to help the younger ones make the short walk. He could see the fever burning hotly in still-plump cheeks that hadn't yet wasted away to parchment stretched over skin and bone. They would soon, though, he thought, and dismissed them within seconds of having passed him by.

Once the corridor was finally empty, he signalled for the massive double doors to be dropped shut and the heavy bar to be put into place. Two lots of 900 made for a full menu on the hive. That was the last of them for this culling, but their job was only half done. Once the Wraith had finished taking the live stock, they'd start delivering the dead for disposal.

At least room had been made for the new arrivals due tomorrow. A batch of humans freshly harvested and still holding some hope and pride. Larym felt no excitement at the prospect, although he would admit to a spark of interest in the diversion they would offer while getting them acclimatised.

o-O-o

The office was austere. A single lamp gave off a meagre light that didn't dare intrude too deeply into the greyish-brown gloom. A desk, two chairs and a cabinet with plain metal handles were the only furniture. On the desk, charts were rolled up in piles next to a massive, bound tome that was lying open. There were no mementos or knick-knacks to soften the stark militarism of the underground room.

It was the perfect setting for the cold, still man to whom the room belonged. As for the man himself, he was every bit as austere. Grey hair was cut ruthlessly short and - aside from the hint of a widow's peak - without any hint of style. The face underneath was heavier than he liked, but the crystal blue of his eyes defied the fifty plus years nature insisted on giving him.

His guest was a lot older, although given that he wasn't human the comparison was moot. While the business at hand was being conducted by underlings on the surface, they were left to conversations that were either desultory or loaded, depending on the topic - including the weather, food (rationing, quality and storage), conflicts of interest, interest in conflicts, weaponry, uninvited guests, potential targets and sports.

A knock on the door resulted in a command to enter. Striding inside and knowing better than to show hesitation or fear, the young soldier saluted sharply and then reported that the last of the Wraith ships had returned to the hive. Report delivered and dismissed, he turned to leave just as smartly.

The two occupants remained seated and seemingly content to linger over fortifying cups of strong tea.

"It is time for me to rejoin my brethren." Seated on the other side of the desk, the wraith raised the mostly-full cup in a half mocking salute. "You are a most interesting human, Vitus Galan."

"I'm a survivor," Galan replied absently to his guest's compliment. "More than most I'll grant you, but not exactly alone in that attitude."

"Ah ah ah! There are very few human we Wraith will deal with, so I wouldn't be so cavalier in labelling yourself as one of the…common herd, shall we say."

"Did I do that?" Galan smiled softly to himself and without humour. Contemplating his metal cup for a moment longer, the grey head tilted and cold blue eyes came up to stare unblinkingly. "How many humans have you found who can reach two hundred years and still keep up their end of a bargain?"

"I did say you were interesting," the wraith pointed out, concurring. "In fact, considering what you do to your own kind, some might call you a monster. More so even than I." Pale lips pulled back in a caricature of a smile, revealing twin rows of jagged teeth and his wave of a hand was a gesture that took in the rest of the complex. "For example, your men are more afraid of you than they are of me; a most unusual circumstance to any wraith."

That statement tweaked Galan's interest and he sat up to lean both elbows on the desk, expression suddenly intently curious, "Tell me, does that bother you?"

Almost before the question was uttered, he recognised the risk of goading a creature that considered human fear almost a divine right, and moreover viewed him as being only a few steps up from food. However, he didn't attempt call it back or wave it off. Had the risk occurred to him before asking, he still likely would have done so. Given his predilection for mind-games their conversations were often mercurial anyway.

Predictably, the wraith stiffened; his rage was controlled but visible as he rose to his full, towering height. "Careful, Galan," he hissed. "As much as I find our meetings entertaining in a purely sadistic manner, you would do well to remember who is the real predator here."

The door slammed shut behind him and there was a moment of silence before Galan sat back with a sigh. "Pity. I was sincere in my curiosity."

o-O-o 

Charles 'Chuck' McMasters was playing a game of solitaire when the stargate activated. It was an unscheduled activation and Elizabeth couldn't ignore the impulse to leave her office and find out what the problem might be. Chuck switched screens just a moment too late when he felt her come to stand next to him.

"IDC?" she asked him simply, hoping the concern wasn't as obvious as she felt.

"It's just coming in- It's Colonel Sheppard's, ma'am."

His hand was already hovering over the shield control when she gave him the order to lower it.

Teyla Emmagen came through first, followed by Sheppard and Ronon Dex. Rodney had managed to weasel out of going and so the wormhole disengaged behind Ronon. As no-one was being carried, bleeding even a tiny bit, or generally appeared harassed over being chased and shot at, everyone in Operations relaxed.

With the excitement over, low-voiced conversations resumed. Watching John stride away from the 'gate and towards the stairs, Elizabeth was caught between returning to her office and letting him talk to her there, or meeting him halfway and getting a second's warning over what had him seeming so purposeful.

Too late. Her gaze caught and locked onto his as he bypassed technicians without slowing. Teyla and Ronon weren't far behind him. "Got a minute?" he asked her when he got close.

Figuring by both his expression and tone that if she didn't, she better find one, Elizabeth nodded and led the way back to her office. Dread curdled in her belly, but she was pretty certain it didn't show on her face when she lowered herself to her seat, asking, "So, what did you find out?"

Hands on hips and still in full off-world gear, he said straight out, "We need to get hold of Ladon of the Genii and find out what the _hell_ he thinks he's playing at?"

o-O-o

Colonel Caldwell brought the numbers up to seven at the briefing. Elizabeth wished she'd thought of a good enough excuse to exclude him considering she was expecting some tension, and Caldwell, for all his being a decent enough guy, had a habit of exacerbating that state-of-mind. 

For her, too, if she was being honest. He complicated already complicated situations with his purely military perspective. It wasn't so much black and white as he seemed to practically live in a constant grey area. She sometimes wondered if humanity was just another 'factor' he added into his strategic equations.

No, that was harsh, she admonished herself while the others, freshly showered and-  
Surprise, surprise- Rodney eating again, took their seats. Just because she was more comfortable with John's less orthodox campaign style didn't make Caldwell an enemy. To a lot of people on Earth, he was probably the better officer and even Elizabeth had to concede that John was more of a rogue. It just so happened that, for now, the Pegasus Galaxy and Atlantis needed the rogue a whole lot more.

She would remember that line of thinking later. For now, she braced herself and did her level best to appear composed. Seeing they were waiting for her to begin, she folded her hands in front of her and advised, "I've already brought Colonel Caldwell up to speed on current events, so let's cut to the chase and move on to what you found out today."

"What we found out," drawled John from his deceptive slouch, "is that our buddy Ladon has been playing wizard behind the curtain again."

o-O-o

A few feet away, Elizabeth briskly gathered her things up, while John sat dumbfounded and silent as everyone else filed out. Passing him, Teyla laid a comforting hand on his shoulder before following Ronon's broad, departing back. Never one for loitering for fear of not looking officially busy, Colonel Caldwell had been the first to leave the room.

_Goddammit!  
_  
He'd just delivered proof that the Genii were up to their old tricks again, and been shut down. Okay, so knowing that it was Ladon who'd been picking up their scattered weapons and handing them over to a one-time-turned rebel outpost of theirs answered one question, but it left a whole bunch of others still up in the air.

Such as where the anonymous tip on a ZPM being on that planet had been funnelled from and why? Someone had wanted them to go to that planet and gone to some lengths to get them there. That alone needed to be looked into, and then there was the fact that it was that they had a responsibility to retrieve their property before they could be used to hurt more innocent people.

That opinion hadn't gone down well.

On hearing that their likely wasn't a ZPM on the planet, as reluctantly confirmed by McKay, Caldwell had lost all interest and made it plain why. With the P90's mystery solved, as far as he was concerned what was happening on MJ6 709 was tragic, but it wasn't any of their business. They had enough problems without adding more, and last but not least they had neither the resources, nor the time to police human rights in the Pegasus Galaxy.

Elizabeth agreeing with him had blindsided John. When she went to walk past he acted without thinking and rose to block her exit. "I can't believe you're just going to let this go."

Colliding with him, she stepped back to see his face. Tension coiled. Her eyes locked with his and flickered for a moment before darkening with iron resolve. "I've already agreed to speak with Ladon about the weapons and to make sure no more are given to Galan. As far as I'm concerned the threat to Atlantis began and ended with that issue, John."

Frustration was like a live thing snaking in his belly. His jaw clenched to contain it. "Oh c'mon, it was never just about the weapons."

Admitting it for the first time resulted in an electric pause.

Single brow rising, her chin came up, too. "For you, maybe not, but Caldwell has it right when he says we're in no position to act as intergalactic peace-keepers." She held up a hand to forestall him when he went to interrupt. "I sympathise with the refugees and we'll keep them safe, but that is all we can do. We're a scientific expedition, remember? Inciting rebellions or trying to topple governments is not our job, and I'm damned well thankful for it. If it was, I wouldn't be here."

The last was a forceful reminder of their differences. In return, he almost reminded her about the Tower fiasco but some vestige of prudence held his tongue. That situation had arisen more out of an accident rather than design-his accidental gene and McKay with his cave-in.Besides, they were all good points and John recognised that. They were hanging on by the skin of their teeth here and that meant not inviting trouble. As the military commander of Atlantis, he had to put the security of their people first, and he did. In fact, more than once in recent months he'd made tough calls that resulted in sweaty, sleepless nights and he didn't doubt he'd make more in the future, but still…

Standing there, he felt useless, inadequate and wrong, yet was still compelled to try again. "I could take a Jumper-get the lay of the land and maybe see if I can sneak some more out?"

Knowing in advance what her response would be didn't soften it. "And risk losing both you and the jumper, not a chance."

Sighing, her stance relaxed to the point where she looked like she was thinking of reaching out; then apparently changed her mind and spread out her hands in a helpless gesture. "I'm sorry, John, but you have to accept that this isn't a problem we can solve." So saying she went to step past him before stilling again to say bluntly, "MJ6 709 is being taken off the dialling list as of today."

o-O-o 

John went running, did his job without a single drop in concentration, and then ran some more. For three days he only stopped to fall into bed, hoping that sleep would be dreamless and always being disappointed.

Running his ass off to the point of being bent double and gasping for air was supposed to clear his head and release some of the tension, but it wasn't helping much. Self-directed recriminations while pounding the punishing miles didn't have any effect either, dammit!

Arms pumping, his running shoes hit the floor in rhythmic clashes of rubber on metal.

The Pegasus Galaxy, just like Earth, was filled to the damn brim with tragedy. Hell, you couldn't go off-world without hearing about how thousands had been culled or killed-which equated to the same thing one way or another. So, why was this one eating at him, and why was he unable to shut it off?

He'd seen some serious crap during his service time, but nothing worse than had happened in the past, not even close; 'Nam, and both world wars to name a few. Just because Afghanistan hadn't been a picnic, it didn't mean he had the right to go off the deep-end every time he came across something that smacked too close to that particular nerve. It was arrogant, crass, and clichéd. He hated being a cliché. Innocent people had died in front of him before and while he hadn't liked it, he'd accepted there was a limit to what he could do. If he couldn't handle it the same way now, he shouldn't be here and should've punched in his ticket when they sent him to Antarctica. He hadn't because he refused to fold and give in, preferring to just let it all slide right past him.

Where was that detachment now, dammit?! He had priorities, they all did, and his needed to get unscrewed, pronto.

At least he'd had the sense to assign Lorne to accompany Elizabeth for that chat with Ladon rather than go himself. That was a plus point in the letting-it-go department. The nod of acceptance he'd gotten of Elizabeth had held an approval that both soothed and irritated him. It had irritated him because despite their new 'cuddly' relationship with the Genii, he still didn't trust that weasel Ladon a godamned inch. A fact that Elizabeth and the Genii leader knew.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping down his face and neck to further dampen an already damp t-shirt. Legs muscles burning or not, John pushed himself harder. There was nothing like pain to keep your head busy and out of your ass.

o-O-o

Breathing harder than he liked to admit, Ronon Dex watched Teyla dry the sheen off her face with a strip of linen and wondered at the dainty, graceful motions of a supremely accomplished warrior. Hiding his admiration was only as hard as keeping his expression neutral; which meant not hard at all.

Femininity drew him and always had. It was the opposite of him and not just because he was male and she was female. Their practice session had resulted in a draw. A fact which should have annoyed him and yet didn't. Not being the analytical type, he didn't bother to try and figure out why that might be. When she was finished she turned back to him with that warm, open smile that was so natural coming from her. It occurred to him, and not for the first time, that he would die for her, just as he would for all of his new team, friends, comrades, and yes, family.

"Something is troubling you," she ventured with her head cocked and liquid dark eyes quizzical.

That query had come completely out of the blue. His first instinct was to deny the prod. Ronon cocked his head too, and curved his lips into a challenging smile designed to deflect her query, "Do you think you know me so well?"

She wasn't fooled and crossed her arms as they faced one another, "It's not what you say so much as what you don't say that gives you away."

Such insight shouldn't have surprised him since he knew how intuitive she was, but it still managed to zing under his guard. A part of him mourned the fact that it had grown so thin recently. When he made no reply, she turned and swiped up her belongings with a sigh, saying, "If you do not wish to speak of it all you have to do is say so."

Her tone was resigned, proud and a little hurt. She'd passed him and reached the door before Ronon managed to defeat his bone-deep reserve and open up. "I'm worried about Sheppard."

Teyla's, "As am I," had him swivelling on his heel to face her.

For once it was him that elaborated: "He's acting weird, never talks to anyone unless it's about a mission or a problem; he's stewing over that planet."

"He's not the only one," she confessed and, deciding the topic warranted it, crossed back to drop her things and lower herself to the window seat. "The people we rescued view my own as less threatening and they're finally talking." Pausing, she finished sombrely, "The stories I heard when I visited the mainland yesterday are truly unbelievable."

"Yeah, it's filtering back here and everybody's tense over it. The talk around here has been getting pretty heated." Joining her and making sure his thigh did not brush hers, Ronon hung his hands between his spread knees and stared at the floor. Hesitantly for him, and as if he wasn't sure if he wanted an answer, he looked sideways at her and asked, "You think it's true?"

The healthy glow on her face from exercise dimmed with unwelcome memory. "I do…and yet the idea that any human being, much less a whole civilisation, can be so monstrous as to collaborate with the Wraith in such a way is abhorrent to me."

They'd seen something similar before with the penal island of Olesia, but this surpassed even that. These weren't criminals of their own society being used, but innocents from across the galaxy.

"Me too." That was an understatement, and his grim tone barely hinted at the rage he could feel humming in his blood. "I guess I'm starting to swing towards Sheppard's thinking in wanting to go in there and take them out."

Teyla's expression morphed from tense to uneasy. "Is that what you think he wants?"

Ronon cocked a 'c'mon' brow. "I know how he thinks, remember."

"Perhaps," she conceded reluctantly and with the unease remaining firmly etched on her face. "I think such an action would very likely fail-we do not know how many of them there are, or what defences they have."

"That's what reconnaissance is for," he countered, then shrugged it off, "Not that I think Dr Weir will change her mind."

"She has valid reasons for such a stance, and the lives of her people to safeguard. I would have made the same decision. There is a limit to what we can do, and while accepting it is hard, it has to be done."

"Maybe, but I understand what's eating Sheppard is all I'm saying." His smile was equal parts a grimace and wry, "He's so-"

"Unpredictable…protective," Teyla supplied for him with a twisted, rueful smile when he trailed off.

"Yeah, I guess." Another shrug of big shoulders revealed how uncomfortable he was with the topic. "Sometimes we'll come across something and he'll feel responsible-take it personally. I knew others like him back on Sateda and when they died, I labelled them fools…it's taken me a while to change my mind back again."

"You're not so different, Ronon," Teyla told him and the husky note in her voice had him speechless for a moment.

"Don't fool yourself," he warned gruffly, stiffening and looking anywhere but at her. "Being hunted for seven years turned me into an animal." It pissed him off that he had to disabuse her of the notion, even when his motive was to avoid her getting ideas that he was decent. If she thought that, the idea might cross over to him, and that could lead to a world of disappointment. Been there, didn't feel like a revisit.

Squeezing his arm in a comforting gesture, she rose, saying, "It's not just your mind that's changed back."

Once again she'd reached the door before he could speak, this time past a new and sudden lump in his throat. "So, what do we do about Sheppard?"

"All we can do," she returned. "Be there and be a friend."

From anyone else that statement might have sounded trite, but Teyla never said what she didn't mean; another thing that both baffled and drew him. They'd all baffled him at first: Sheppard with his offer of friendship and laidback, stubborn refusal to be put off; Weir with her cool-eyed class and iron will; McKay with his constant yammering; but Teyla more than the others, and she still did. Alone, Ronon puffed out his cheeks, shook his head at the turn his life had taken and stood, thinking, If he lets us.

o-O-o

The meeting with Ladon was cancelled at the last minute. The AV transmission came in only minutes before they were due to go through the Stargate. The excuse sounded reasonable. Tersely agreeing to reschedule for the next day, Elizabeth mentally reeled off curses in three languages.

Several hours later and her mood hadn't improved. She'd needed to get that meeting out of the way so that Atlantis could move on from this stinking mess. Not just for the soldiers, who by now had all lost friends to the Wraith, but for her and, yes, John especially. More details kept filtering back from the mainland and she wished they'd stop. The debate she'd hoped to avoid was raging, if muttered. Dammit! She understood the desire to go back and storm that godforsaken planet. Political training aside, she felt the same way. It was monstrous, and the reasons behind it impossible to justify. Vitus Galan - whoever the bastard was - deserved to be shot and given a safe, sane choice she'd like nothing better than a ringside seat.

She didn't have that choice though, or the right to endanger the expedition, even when a good portion of them were raring to go. Edgy guilt and defensiveness hunched her shoulders until she was forced to exhale heavily to disperse it and relax back in the chair.

Sitting at her desk while the rest of operations hummed on the quieter power of night-time, Elizabeth toyed with whatever her hands found while she brooded: pen, notebook, trinkets she'd begun collecting from other worlds.

Sitting brooding, she admitted she missed irreverent John Sheppard she'd come to count on. Over time they'd become friends and it was surprising just how much she'd come to count on that friendship. Oh, she saw him every day and he managed to put up a front that thankfully didn't stoke the embers. He was too civil though, when they did meet, and avoided her at all other times. It bothered her, almost as much as it bothered her that she wasn't the only one. John was avoiding everyone outside of strictly work. Ironically, she was fairly sure why and was grateful. He wasn't in the mood for chit-chat, and refused to discuss what _was_ on his mind and possibly cause more trouble.

If she wasn't so burned out herself, she'd try pushing him into talking it over with her, but she was running on empty enough already without risking further conflict Exhaustion dropped with weighted edges. Dragging a hand through shower-damp hair that had grown surprisingly long, she decided to call it a night. Pushing back her chair to rise, she skirted the desk and exited her office, pretending not to hear the hushed conversation between the sentries posted for the night. 

o-O-o

Genii pride was both a strength and a weakness, the problem being that knowing this for a fact didn't stop Ladon from suffering from the same affliction. Having an ally as useful and efficient as the Atlanteans was good for them, but like many of his people it also irked him that they eclipsed the Genii in technology and success against their common enemy, the Wraith.

In an ideal world, their first attempt to defeat them and seize Atlantis for themselves would have worked, meaning they held all the power. But, this wasn't an ideal world and subsequent meetings had made the Genii, and most particularly Ladon, beholden to them. Sitting in what was once Cowen's chair, Ladon tipped his head back on brown leather and mulled over the quandaries that their alliance with the Atlantean's presented to him, most particularly another betrayal that he had no choice but to deliver.

His unwillingness had little to do with loyalty or friendship, but the knowledge that the consequences of what he had to do would be severe. Given a choice, Ladon would have much preferred it if Sheppard was accompanying Dr Weir, but he could hardly request such a scenario without risking giving the game away. No, he would have to deal with Sheppard after the fact, and hope he survived the meeting.

It was a disquieting enough thought to have him sitting up and reaching towards the pitcher of 'harvest' wine to refill his cup. He didn't drink from it straight away and instead swirled the contents, staring down with a thoughtful frown.

A whisper of guilt for Dr Weir snuck under his guard. He liked her. Taking a swig he dismissed the guilt. It was partly their fault really. If they'd done what they were supposed to have done when they received the 'tip-off' on the ZPM; a lie fabricated to bring about a confrontation between Atlantis and Galan, then Ladon wouldn't be in this position now. That was another annoyance he could lay at their door. They rarely reacted the way he expected them, too.

There was, however, a plus point to Sheppard not being caught in the trap. He would do whatever was necessary to retrieve his people, and therefore help accomplish Ladon's other, hidden goal. Raising the cup, he saluted a grainy picture of Cowen on the far wall. One way or another, the Genii would be free of an uncomfortable friend very soon.

o-O-o

The chevrons on the Stargate aligned and locked as Elizabeth stood ready in the embarkation area with Major Lorne and his team. Any and all nerves were hidden and she refused to acknowledge the tingling along her spine that warned of an intense scrutiny from the balcony above. John was regretting assigning Lorne's team instead of his own and she knew it. Just as she knew he wouldn't change his standing orders and risk giving Major Lorne the impression that he wasn't trusted.

It was better this way she told herself, even as she sympathised. John's history with Ladon Radim the Genii leader was spotty at best, and less than amicable after the most recent incident that had almost gotten him killed. Months had passed since then, but the animosity still lingered. She wanted this meeting to go smoothly and without additional, unwanted tension, so she kept her gaze fixed firmly on the 'gate. Just before stepping into the rippling water-effect of the event horizon, she gave in and looked back, lifting a hand in a wave that the tense figure on the balcony acknowledged with a see-you-later nod.

Met on the other side by a contingent of Ladon's personal guard, the five of them were led directly to the underground bunker that served as the Genii headquarters. Trudging along behind Lorne through damp grass, Elizabeth tried not to dwell on the last time she'd made this walk though sweet smelling fields; a trip that ended with her being bound and gagged.

o-O-o 

Candles were lit on every available surface, the flickering orange flames reflecting off heavy, dark-hewn furniture reminiscent of the 1940s for style and that might have sold for a small fortune back home on Earth.

Ladon, still beardless, occupied the chair at the head of the long table. Elizabeth was seated on his right with Lorne next to her, Smith on his left and Williams and Murphy on the opposite side. The air was as stale as she remembered, but the welcome a great deal warmer. Not that it couldn't do with some heating up, too. Suspicion and distrust lay thick enough in the air to be tangible, and it was a mindset that she shared.

She'd already outlined their recent investigation over their weapons appearing in use on another planet they'd never visited, and made her demands that no more were handed over to anyone other than themselves. She also left the inference that they'd been procured by underhand means to hang in the air along with the distrust. The insinuation wasn't direct enough to warrant an aggressive response, but had enough punch to solidify her position, especially when everyone here knew it was true.

Hands folded on the table in front of him, Ladon's smile was wry and typically unapologetic. "Our early skirmishes against one another have allowed the Genii to gather a small stockpile of your Earth weapons; however, without sufficient ammunition we had nothing planned for them."

"So, you just gave them to a sadistic despot instead of back to us?"

Ladon appeared surprised at her description of Galan and Lorne piped up, "Yeah, we know all about that son of a bitch."

Ladon's "I'm sure you do," gave her the willies, a reaction she masked behind a cool façade.

Hands spreading out, the Genii continued, "To be truthful, I'd long forgotten we had them, especially given the turmoil following the coup. I didn't recall we even had them until Galan turned up on a visit and spotted one."

"And you just happened to have one lying around," Elizabeth queried, using a mobile brow to add silent, mild derision. Much more likely was the fact that they'd been testing the superior weapons at the time.

"I don't recall the specifics," Ladon said, weasling out of the unspoken accusation. "However, I am willing to assure you that we have no more of your weapons in our possession and, as such, can't be 'handing them' out as you put it."

"What's your connection with Galan?" asked Elizabeth, deliberately abrupt.

He didn't miss a beat, "That is a long story."

"So share," suggested Lorne, with a wide disarming smile that brought out his dimples but didn't reach any higher.

Normally-calculating blue eyes turned inward as Ladon considered the 'request'. After a few seconds he appeared to reach a decision and cocked his head, saying, "It's not an association we're proud of for reasons you're probably aware of, but since you ask so nicely…"

If the pause was meant to allow for an apology or a disclaimer, Elizabeth was happy to disappoint him. After a beat, Ladon continued, "Vitus Galan was once the governor of a Genii out-post called Eceni. He's since renamed it Galanus."

"Galan is Genii?" 

"He was. We're not sure what he is now, since he's at least 200 years old."

In the process of taking a sip of water, Major Lorne choked.

"Are you sure it's the same man?" asked Elizabeth with a frown.

"Certain. Besides, if he was handing down to descendents I'd have to wonder how even _they_ could match him for evil. I doubt two men could be so equal in ruthlessness, never mind three or four."

For some reason, she believed him. Filing the unusual longevity of the man away for later assessment, she prodded, "Okay, so what happened to make a Genii governor turn into a Wraith collaborator?"

"They turned up, Dr Weir." Ladon's smile was more of a twisted grimace. "Like most human inhabited planets in this galaxy, the Wraith culled a large proportion of the population and destroyed the settlements. Galan and a handful of his men survived in a bunker similar to this one. Some time later he made his deal with the Wraith - or, more accurately, one particular Wraith hive -offering his services as a way of helping them circumvent their territorial rules by hiding the evidence so-to-speak. Once he'd accomplished that, he pulled away from us."

"Normally being attacked and culled pisses folks off and has them swearing revenge," muttered Corporal Williams.

Elizabeth had to agree with that assessment. Either that or drove them into hiding where they survived in primitive conditions.

"According to long-ago reports and from what I know of the man now, I'd say Vitus was never what you might call normal."

Elizabeth's brow did its upward climb again, "And yet he was made governor?"

"Of a far away planet," replied Ladon, in a statement loaded with suggestion. "According to old stories, he was blackmailing his way to the top- among other things."

There was that suggestive pause again. Elizabeth ignored it. "Why do you still have dealings with him if he pulled away from the Genii- what, a couple of centuries ago?"

"A hundred and fifty years, give or take. And the answer is simple, Doctor. If we don't play nice, Galan can and _will_ send the Wraith straight to us."

There was a shocked pause. Elizabeth's inner alarms began to blare, and from the way Major Lorne stiffened she was betting his were too. 

"That sounds like an uncomfortable position to be in, Ladon; you have my sympathies," she began, licking dry lips and praying her suspicions were unfounded. "Did you happen to mention where you got the P90s from?"

Ladon didn't so much as blink as he leaned forward. "Not the first time he visited us, no. But when he came back to ask who the people might be with the invisible spacecraft, we had no choice but to make an educated guess."

_Oh crap!_

"I think it's time-"

In the middle of advising it was time to go, Lorne's voice choked at the exact same moment that Elizabeth felt an agonising rip of pain scream through every inch of her body. Back arching spasmodically, her teeth snapped together and clenched hard enough to crack several molars. Opposite her, Murphy and Williams appeared similarly afflicted. Just before everything went black, she heard Ladon talking casually about a non-lethal electrical charge.

The chairs, she thought, fading. It had to have been the chairs.

o-O-o

When they were five minutes overdue, John ordered the 'gate dialled and tried to get a message through to Lorne or Elizabeth. When that failed to get a response, he had his team and another gear up. Nobody asked any questions, not even Rodney, and roughly ten minutes after the first dialling, they were dialling again.

Cold sweat beaded on his face and body, but didn't run, as if frozen in place. He wasn't surprised because he felt like a walking block of ice. _He shouldn't have let her overrule him_. He'd wanted the meeting held in Atlantis, or at the very least on a neutral planet. But when Ladon declined, Elizabeth had talked him out of his qualms, citing the fact that they'd saved both Ladon and his sister in recent times, meaning it would be safe enough to go directly to the Genii home-world.

Dammit! He shouldn't have let them go. Helplessness and rage churned up inside him. Helplessness for the bitch that was hindsight, and rage at both himself and Elizabeth for not listening the first time. 

The fifth chevron locked.

"I'm sure they're is fine," Teyla murmured reassuringly to him.

On his other side, Rodney burst out, "Of course they're fine. I mean why wouldn't they be?"

"If they aren't, they soon will be," was Ronon's dour if sincere contribution.

They were trying to make him and themselves feel better. John didn't bother telling them they weren't helping. Under the chill, he felt like a bottle of soda, shaken to the point of explosion and with a top that was about to go pop. If anything happened to any of them…he couldn't afford to finish the thought, so he squashed it.

The Stargate engaged and the ebullient wash of the event horizon whooshed out towards them.

Keeping back the rush of images his too-fertile imagination wanted to thrust at him, all featuring his people hurt or dead, John unlocked his jaw and when he spoke his tone was as flat as a corpse. "Let's go. When you see a Genii, do not engage without my order."

They didn't have to go far. A few steps from the Stargate, the two Atlantis teams adopted defensive positions to face-off against a legion of armed-to-the-teeth Genii. Amid bristling rifles borne by hard-eyed veterans wearing the dull green and burgundy uniforms of the Genii, Ladon Radim was standing dead centre and his arrogant smirk said all that needed to be said.

Standing tall and careless of the dozens of barrels all aiming at him, John's P90 was aimed squarely at that smirk. "Where's Elizabeth and the rest of my people you rat-bastard sonovabitch?"

o-O-o

It was the hoarse shouts and monotonous thuds that woke her. Curling into a tighter defensive ball, Elizabeth's eyes opened to see a dull, fuzzy pink blob hit the floor a few feet away. Everything else was dim. The stench hit her next, making her gag. Blinking while registering the cold, unforgiving sensation of stone under her cheek and hands, she gasped when the blob coalesced into a man. Head lifting despite the crack of pain over her skull, her eyes widened when she finally recognised Corporal Williams. He wasn't easy to recognise with the swelling and congealing blood distorting his features.

Williams was bound to a chair and both were lifted upright. Williams' head lolled, and with his eyes swollen slits she could tell he was barely conscious, if at all. He looked truly horrific and bile spat up into her mouth. Swallowing it back, she did a quick, panicked scan of the rest of the chamber and saw Lorne, Murphy and Smith lying bound on the opposite side. Their faces bore signs of a beating too, but nowhere near as bad. They were squirming and yelling, trying to belly-crawl to their comrade as the brutal beating continued.

Oh God! "_Stop it_! For God's sake you're _killing_ him!"

Her voice went unheard too, and desperate to get the attention of whoever might be able to halt this nightmare, she started to squirm over as well, careless of the filth smearing over her face and clothes.

When one of the others crawled too close, they were viciously kicked out of the way, and seeing her doing the same, Major Lorne yelled at her to stay still. Sobbing with exertion as well as horror when the blows kept raining down on a helpless man - moreover, one she was responsible for -Elizabeth wanted to do nothing more than close her eyes so she wouldn't be forced to watch a man beaten to death.

She refused to give herself the reprieve out of respect for Williams.

That was their introduction to the mind and methods of Vitus Galan.

o-O-o

John's eyes bored into Ladon's. He saw surprise flicker fleetingly over the Genii's face at his aggression and toyed with the idea of reminding the scientist-cum-revolutionary that screwing with him was one thing, but fucking with his people a whole other ballgame. Flippant went out the damned window when those he cared about were threatened. The smooth trigger of the rifle was a beacon of temptation. The urge to just squeeze off a round to hit the asshole right between the eyes was strong enough that he actually considered it. Tremors ran up his arms from the effort it was to restrain himself.

"I asked you a question," he prodded grimly.

Ladon stiffened, dismissing the memory of the last time he'd seen Sheppard so riled and the body count that had resulted from it. "Galan has her and the four who came with her," he said bluntly. "And, if you want them back alive, you're going to have to drop your weapon and listen to me."

He must have seen the intent to shoot in John's eyes, because Ladon's Adam's apple bobbled and he held up his hand to ward him off. "Don't start something that's going to get everyone killed, Colonel. How is that going to help Dr Weir?"

Some of the Genii began to shift nervously, facing the blank-faced stony resolve of the Atlanteans. Standing on the stone dais next to John, a cold smile curved Ronon's lips. "We already know where she is, you just told us. Who says we need your help?" To John he added a loud aside, "Let's just kill 'em and get back to Atlantis."

"I have intel that you won't be able to get from any other source, certainly not in time to save your people, as well as blueprints of Galan's bunker. I also offer troops who will work under your command to storm it."

"Like we'd trust you guys not to shoot us in the back," John retorted, but the killing rage had dissipated enough for him to know he couldn't just shoot the man down anymore. The fact that the smirk was long gone helped a great deal. "We'll take the blueprints, and you, back to Atlantis. You have five minutes to send a flunky for the plans." When Ladon looked set to refuse, it was he who held up a warning hand this time. "If you argue with me, or if I don't return, you'll find an armed nuke appearing right in front of your faces faster than you can blink. It's your call."

o-O-o

When it was finally over and Williams was dead, a figure detached itself from the chamber edges that remained unbreached by the meagre light. Tall, stocky and anonymous in the gloom, the figure made its unhurried way to where Elizabeth lay dry-eyed now. Dazed and sickened and, yes, terrorised by what she'd been forced to witness, she barely paid any notice when the bindings digging into her arms and legs were cut free.

She had no idea how long she lay there, untied, but too bone-tired and ill to move. The first she knew of having even that choice taken away from her was when Lorne and the remainder of his men began yelling again; voices turned hoarse from hours of pleading and cursing rose in panicked protest when she was hauled to her feet and roughly dragged out of the chamber. 

Stale sweat assaulted her senses from the two men holding her upright and hauling her between them like a sack. Nausea roiled in her gut as vague impressions of cold grey stone corridors gave way to warmer ones filled overhead with pipes. It was like being dragged up from the depths of a chilly hell. Only she had the impression that they were going down instead of up. Too soon, the fog of shock began to clear. There were signs of civilisation on the next level, and it was clean with the foul stench of decay receding. Her journey ended in an office, stark and spartan, and behind the desk was a man she recognised as the one who had untied her.

Her 'escort' pushed her into the chair opposite and then left. As the door behind her was slammed inexorably shut, she forced herself to meet his gaze unflinchingly. Fifties, short grey hair, heavy jowls and cold, cold blue eyes. Cataloguing the details helped focus her mind. Back on Earth he could have passed for prosperous middle management- a banker or an accountant- except for the eyes, they were an icy wasteland of malevolent intelligence in a too pale face. Revulsion was instant and compelling.

"Vitus Galan, I presume?" Elizabeth's own voice was scratchy and barely recognisable.

Galan inclined his head, "And you are Dr Elizabeth Weir, previously of a planet called Earth and now residing in Atlantis, the city of the Ancestors."

"Am I supposed to be impressed that your source of information is so accurate?"

"Tsk, tsk. I thought you were supposed to be a negotiator, Dr Weir. That is why you're here after all."

Her jaw literally dropped "If you think I'm going to deal with you on any matter after what you've just had done-" Words failed her for a moment.

It wasn't the smart thing to have said and she damn well knew it. Her reaction had been emotional and aggressive and designed purely to aggravate, but she just couldn't help herself. She'd self-recriminate later when she no longer had the smell of Williams' blood clogging every breath.

"I don't see you have a choice, but let's pretend you do." Those cold blue eyes didn't so much as flicker. "Do you think I'm a monster?"

"Isn't that what you want me to think?" she shot back, but a good deal calmer this time.

"Actually, no, you're quite wrong." Folded hands were laid on the desk as he leaned on it. The weak glow from the desk-lamp settled uneasily on his face, somehow shadowing grooves and valleys with thicker, darker strokes. "I don't want you to think that at all. I want you to realise and know that on every level that is exactly what I am." 

"Why-?"

He spoke over her question as if she hadn't uttered it. "So many of the people who pass through here look at me - stare, actually - as if by doing so they can somehow will me to change their fate. They thrust fat babies into my line of sight, pitiful scraps of humanity that they think will touch something inside of me. What they, and you, don't understand is that I stopped looking inside myself for a conscience back when I was merely a child myself."

Perhaps it was the horror of the last few hours making her fanciful, but it occurred to Elizabeth as she sat there that for the first time she felt as if she was staring at tangible proof of the existence of a human soul, simply because of its absence in this man. It was an effort to speak through her revulsion. "And the point to your trip down memory lane?"

Motionless, Galan held her unwilling gaze and yet remained completely devoid of expression, even in his voice. "I want you to know that I mean what I say when I say that if you do not cooperate, I will torture the remainder of your men. If you don't do exactly what I want you to do, they will be beaten, electrocuted, raped, mutilated and whatever else I want or devise-all while you watch."

o-O-o

"If things are so bad why don't his men just kill him and move on?" After listening for half an hour while Ladon listed Vitus Galan's litany of crimes, Rodney McKay had had enough. "I mean, you say he has command of thousands of men?" He didn't wait for confirmation before tossing up his hands and asking sharply, "How does that work? How can _none_ of them realise just how wrong it is to do what they're doing?"

The meeting room was small with only a single, square table and, today, four chairs. Ladon was cuffed and sat with his hands resting on the table's smooth, manufactured surface and facing Sheppard, McKay and Ronon Dex.

John let McKay rant. Despite the urgency burning a hole in his gut, and the ever present need to do _something_ to alleviate it, they were damned good questions. The sidearm at his hip was an option only when his thin store of patience ran out. John knew better than most that the barrel of a 9mm down your gullet can do wonders for cutting down on waffle. On his other side, Ronon was tense and the hands he'd laid on the table were hard fists, he was obviously resisting the urge to ram one into Ladon's face.

"Who says none of them do?" Ladon retorted. "All it takes is a percentage of the men and the rest will simply keep their heads down to avoid having them shot off." Indifferent to the tension, he shrugged, ostensibly leaning back in his chair to fold long fingers over his middle. "Besides, Galan's methods of training his men are brutal in the extreme and all geared towards making as many as possible equally as sadistic as he is. I won't give you details because the little I have turns my stomach, but let's just say his modus operandi appears to follow the belief that the best way of destroying a man's humanity is to treat him like an animal, and then make him act that way from a very young age."

"But, _thousands_-?"

"As I said, it wouldn't need to be them all. Rumour has it that those who show so much as a _hint_ of revolt are tortured for days at a time as an example to the others. The lucky ones die quickly."

"I don't buy it," growled Ronon, speaking up for the first time. "How can any father let his children be abused by a master, no matter how much it costs him?"

"Not many I imagine," agreed Ladon, readily. "However families, unless they're Wraith food, don't exist on Galanus for that very reason."

As expressive as ever, Rodney looked appalled and irritated all at the same time. "Clever of him to realise family ties can make some men do the dumbest things. Except, hold on … if he doesn't let them have children where does he get new generations from- the stork?"

Ladon ignored the sharp, sarcastic tone and the reference he couldn't possibly understand. "Easy. His deal with the Wraith means he gets to hand-pick from the young children they cull from other worlds," answered Ladon, showing some real emotion as he did. "All are male, and handed over to the tender care of his men. Females don't last or stay long in Galanus."

During the dead silence that followed, Ladon appeared to realise he'd just handed over a female to Galan. Moreover one whose safety was the responsibility of the three men now staring at him. "I'm sure he sees Dr Weir in a different light. He does intend to negotiate remember?"

"Oh, he'd better see her different-" began John, low and - considering his usual leaning towards easy-going - dangerous, only to be interrupted by a sharp rap on the door followed by the entrance of a control room technician. "What is it?"

"Off-world activation, Colonel. No IDC, but we have a radio transmission. It's Dr Weir."

o-O-o

"John, it's me."

Hearing her voice through the speakers felt like a punch in the gut. Not just a light tap, a hello-emotions-still-live-here reminder, but a solid blow that actually knocked him back a step. An unacknowledged part of him had begun to wonder if they weren't already dead as punishment for John's intervention with the Wraith Wal-Mart Galan had set up.

The relief was debilitating. Swallowing the left-over bad taste from hearing how the sick son of bitch who'd snatched her took kids and tortured them until they were as twisted as he was, John asked, "Are you okay?"

"The Genii set us up and Williams is dead. The rest of us are being held hostage until certain demands are met. Galan wants to tell you about those demands himself."

"Elizabeth, wait-"

A new voice flooded the control room: male, crisp. "I want a hundred of those rifles you were so indignant that I had, and the ammunition that goes with them."

A hundred P90s to go around a couple of thousand men? Yeah, right! Like that added up. Not.

"And I want one of those ships you used to attack my men. I hear you have enough to spare me one."

A 'Jumper was more like it, but still fell far too short. John could practically hear the 'for now' part of the demands. This was just for starters. The warm up while Galan 'introduced' himself. Even if they got the hostages back, next there'd be threats to Atlantis from his 'pals'. An intense feeling of déjà vu wrapped around John. He'd take Koyla over this guy any day.

"You have twelve hours to comply."

Now it was his turn. Crossing his arms, John dug deep for some calm, "Just supposing I'm willing to play ball. How do I know you'll release the hostages when you have what you want?"

Everyone in the control room held their collective breaths.

"Because I _want_ to return them to you, Colonel Sheppard. Here's a bit of free advice: there's no point in teaching people a lesson if you plan on killing the star pupils."

Tucked under his arms, the knuckles of his fists turned bone white as he wondered what those lessons entailed. Striving for control was harder this time. "Good point, and now here's mine." John said, flatly. "The only thing standing between you and a fiery, painful death is the fact that you have four of my people as hostages. And, since were tossing out advice, here's some for you: take good care of them, Galan, because if you don't there's nothing left to stop me from turning you and your men into a bloody smear on the landscape."

"So noted. I believe we understand one another."

o-O-o

Meanwhile, Teyla had been busy on the mainland. Using charm, gentle cajoling and possibly some guilt, she'd managed to coax one of the refugees into returning to Atlantis for an interview. Lan Reesen was a forty year old farmer from a peaceful planet called Erin. His daughter was alive, if mute from having her tongue cut out to silence her screams, and had remained with the Athosians.

John debated letting someone else do the interview and then decided he needed to be there anyway, so the guy was just going to have deal with it. Ten days of relative peace hadn't done much to heal shattered nerves, but at least he was willing to talk. An hour of careful prodding got them the information they needed: a clear view of what they were up against on the plant's surface, in addition to the plans from Ladon.

Elizabeth had set the policy herself months ago. There would be no negotiating with terrorists. They had no option other than to go in there and rescue their people. John didn't plan to stop with just the rescue. At the end, as they were standing up to leave, Reesen worked up the nerve to ask John directly what they planned to do. Over the table their eyes met directly for the first time.

"We'll save who we can, but I can't compromise the safety of more of my people, I'm sorry." John dropped his gaze first, and turned to leave the room. Reenen couldn't know how much he wanted to be able to promise more, but with Elizabeth gone he had to look at the big picture, even when it sucked. If it was any consolation, John figured his priorities were finally getting unscrewed.

If Teyla understood the unspoken communication that had passed between them, she remained silent on the topic as they made their way to the briefing room. En-route, they finally received some good news. The Daedalus had returned as requested.

o-O-o

Upside on the surface, ash belched out from twin chimneys; indifferent towers rooted in the earth and reaching out to scrape and pollute the sullen, grey sky. Everything looked grey; mud, buildings, sky and people. Colour would have stood out like a needle in the eye- painful and wrong, insulting, because nothing should be able to breach a despair that was every bit as clogging as the human ash. In the few minutes it took to cross from one side of the camp to the other Elizabeth's throat felt as if it was lined with filth. Worse, every step seemed to carry with it a new shock whether it be visual, olfactory or just good old-fashioned emotional. In the yard, people scurried from back and forth, dragging corpses that were little more than husks towards the furnaces. Their faces were hidden for the most part, heads down-bent as they worked as if in mortal terror of catching someone's eye. Still more stripped the dead and tossed the clothing onto a growing mountain, while others sorted the garments into piles.

Passing by, one pile of clothing featured items so small they could only have belonged to children. Numbly staring, Elizabeth's chest went tight, and then tighter still when a girl no older than seven appeared, dragging a basket almost as big as she was. Long, pale straggly hair hid her face and the soiled dress she wore was too big for her, so that the hem dragged in the filthy mud. Reaching the pile of clothing, she began to dump armfuls into the basket. A child in service of the dead, or their killers.

A sudden commotion to her right yanked Elizabeth's attention in that direction and she turned in time to see a man hauled out of a line of other people and beaten by a uniformed guard wielding an iron bar. It was over in seconds and before it could even occur to her to intercede, leaving only a bloodied heap. While she was still trying to digest what she'd seen, and as if his being dead wasn't enough, the guard began to kick the body. The viciousness of the continued attack left her stupefied, while the dead man's comrades cowered, covering their heads with arms no bigger than sticks- bones wrapped in skin. They were so gaunt and sickly, Elizabeth wondered dimly if they'd already been fed upon.

Just then, two more guards sidled over, laughing and jostling one another. It began again as other helpless victims were dragged out of line. She didn't remember making a decision, just taking two steps before her hair was grabbed from behind so hard that fiery pain swept over her skull. She'd been so caught up, so horrified by what she was seeing that she hadn't noticed she was being watched after all. The hand in her hair didn't let go, or let her turn her head away. Vision blurring as the atrocity continued uncontested, she didn't feel the uprush of bile until she was bent at the waist and retching.

The guard who'd grabbed her melted away again and nobody else paid any attention to her. By the time she'd finished, the survivors had been moved on and the bodies left behind like so much discarded waste. To all intents and purposes she was alone.

Raising a shaking hand to her mouth, she straightened and took a deep breath to steady herself. Thankfully, the rectangular yard with its four, brooding watchtowers and twenty ft chain fences stopped whirling and threatening to bring up whatever the first bout of nausea had left in her stomach. As rain started to fall, she began to get an idea of why Galan was letting her wander rather than locking her away. He wanted her to see what was going on here. It was all a part of the game he was playing. The truly horrifying thing was knowing from the lack of shocked reaction that none if it was staged.

Arms hugging her body, she trudged on thinking that Galan didn't know the half of what she was feeling, what he was forcing her to feel. Sheppard had wanted to come in here and finish this place, she'd seen it in his eyes. It had been her decision not to interfere. Back on Atlantis, that decision had been logical and necessary, but standing in the middle of this hell, she could barely look at the faces of the people around her. Shame and guilt crawled up her spine. Logical or not, she felt as responsible as if she'd personally condemned them.

She felt the same hours later. Telling herself she couldn't have known how bad it was as she was pushed into a dining chair did little to make looking at Galan any less sickening. The table was set for two. With the walls covered with wood panelling and smelling faintly of wax it looked almost civilised.

Jaw clenched, she told him, "I'm not hungry."

Across from her, Galan merely cocked a brow, "Then blame your own man for the fact that you have no choice but to eat. I'm under instructions, remember?"

The mere idea of food made her stomach revolt. "And if I don't?"

Her resistance appeared to amuse him and he replied, succinctly, "I'll instruct my men to punish an innocent until you change your mind."

Frustrated wrath wanted to boil up. No choice. "Fine," she bit out. "Mind if we talk while we eat?"

"Why not? I enjoy conversation." Interest had replaced the amusement.

Behind her the door opened and the squeaking of small wheels announced the arrival of a guard pulling a trolley bearing steaming plates of food. The tang of spices wafted into the air. There were four plates; two were filled with something that looked like curry, another bore flat pieces of bread and the last one was piled with round, pale green fruit.

She let the plate sit there and gently steam. "Are my men being fed, too?" Her repeated requests to see them had been denied.

"They are." Galan pointed a spoon at the plate she was ignoring. "Eat, I hate waste."

She considered throwing the whole lot at him and hoping the broken crockery somehow managed to slit his throat, but him and his damned _threats_ stayed the impulse.

Doing as she was bidden, she picked up the spoon and wondered how such an innocent utensil could feel so surreal in her grasp. Focus, she told herself. "Was it you who came up with the idea of luring us here with the promise of a ZPM?"

"Considering I have no idea what such a thing might be, I'd have to say no." Pale eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Is that what brought your ship here the first time?"

Mentioning the Zero Point Module had been a calculated risk, but Galan's response answered the question of that first encounter. Only the Genii were fully aware of their desire to obtain a second ZPM to replace the one they'd had. Why Ladon had instigated this whole mess was a question she'd have to save for the man himself. If she survived.

Nodding, she dropped her gaze to the plate and dug her spoon into the yellow tinged gloop. It didn't divert his attention.

"What is this ZPM you mentioned?"

"An energy source," she replied dismissively, "One that is of no use to you."

"And why might that be?"

"Because it's Ancient technology that can only be used with other Ancient technology, so unless you have some lying around, it won't do a damn thing for you."

Elizabeth took a breath and realising she was glaring, dropped her attention back to the unappetising mess before her. The outburst had just ripped out of her, and yet the ZPM ploy had nothing to do with the anger burning like acid inside. She wanted to howl at Galan, ask him if he ever looked outside and saw what he's causing to happen to innocent people every hour and second of every day. She forced herself to eat a spoonful of food instead.

"I see."

A thought struck her. "_Do_ you have some Ancient technology?" Waving in his direction, she continued, "Is that why you haven't aged in a century or more?"

o-O-o

The infinity of space surrounding the Daedalus was barely cleaved as the ship moved ponderously though the endless, inky blackness. A relatively thin shell of alloy was all that protected the hundreds of humans aboard her from the vacuum of space, but they, and deliberately so, viewed her bulk as all the protection they needed. Even for scientists, occasionally ignorance was bliss.

Nobody thought the bridge was the best place for a strategy meeting, but with little choice, they had to make do. Time was a factor. Given the limit of twelve hours and the estimated ten hour trip to reach Galanus by ship the decision had been made to formulate a plan of attack en-route.

"We know we can't use the Stargate-obviously, because we're flying instead-because of the risk that it's being watched," began Rodney, pacing in front of the large monitor.

Arms crossed, John pointed out, "I'd say it's a definite that they're watching the 'gate, and that any activation would be treated as suspicious if it didn't include a radio transmission. Maybe even then since they know the 'Jumpers can cloak."

"Agreed, which actually gives us an advantage because the Genii, and so Vitus Galan, don't know about our interstellar capabilities." Buoyed up by that knowledge, McKay gave a small, but clearly triumphant smirk. "He won't be expecting us and with the beaming technology, we can get right up close and personal before he knows it."

"Assuming we can't just beam our people out of there," inserted Caldwell, his sharp gaze bouncing from John standing next to him, to Teyla, Ronon beside her, and finally a Marine Major whose team had been assigned to help with the incursion. 

McKay was dismissive and miserable about having to be, saying, "The likelihood of this guy being dumb enough to leave them with their gear is slim to none. No gear means no radio lock. Besides, if it's shielded from radio signals like the Genii home-world it won't work anyway."

"Okay," said John, moving things along. "Worst case scenario, we can't get a lock on Weir and the others. That means we're going in. Let's work on that premise and find the best place to be set down and what we do once we're in." 

Without waiting to be asked, McKay brought up a 3D schematic of the bunker produced from the blueprints Ladon had given them; with the additional details provided by Lan Reesen of the surface complex. Since he'd already memorised it, John only glanced at it. "We need to be inside and away from the perimeter fence and watchtowers to avoid the patrols…yet be close enough to the main structure to limit moving around. We don't want to be getting our asses caught out in the open."

"We can help with that, too," said Caldwell. "I've got Novak working on fine tuning the life signs detection systems to within a few feet. We should be able to send you to an area that is clear of potential hostiles."

"How do we find them when we get there?" asked Ronon.

"That's the tricky bit," admitted Rodney. "Well, that and not being spotted in-case they decide to off the hostages as a reprisal." Seeing the dark look aimed his way from Sheppard, he added, "But of course it won't come to that because we-I won't be-erm, where were we again?"

Teyla was kind enough to catch his flailing verbal pass, "How to find four people in a prison that holds thousands."

The pause that followed confirmed the difficulty of answering that crucial question. "Well, we know where they're not gonna be," said John into the silence, "the guards quarters, canteen, storage areas and furnaces. That takes out most of the surface and leaves the bunker itself."

Walking over to the screen, he pointed to the original bunker blueprint and an area that lay outside of the fence, "According to Reenen this is where the fugitives managed to break out and escape. It's where the prisoners are herded out into the open so the Wraith darts can sweep in and pick 'em up on open ground. If we can find it and break in, there's a corridor that leads straight to the heart of the bunker."

"And once you're inside?" queried Caldwell. "What then?"

Another pause descended.

Rodney snapped his fingers, thinking furiously, "Uniforms."

"What about 'em?" John asked, confused, then a second later his scowl cleared as he figured out where McKay was going.

"We need to be able to move around so we can search for Elizabeth and the others, meaning we need to blend." Rodney was wearing his 'eureka!' expression. "So, how about we get ourselves some uniforms and, hey presto, we're just another bunch of pathological killers wandering around the place?"

o-O-o

The only reason she agreed to go with him was the faint hope that the more she knew about this man, the easier it might be to deal successfully with him and get them all out alive. Galan's quarters were reached through a maze of corridors and finally through a set of metal double doors with a huge bar slotted into place across them. At their approach, the bar was lifted aside by two hulking, expressionless guards.

Inside the décor was better than his office. Plain white tiles covered the floor, cracked in places. There was a dark wood sideboard and tallboy with metal handles. The bed was a metal frame with white linen and brown blankets. Light fixtures in the walls were metal cones. It was still cold and there were no mirrors. After that quick scan, Elizabeth's gaze was drawn to a young boy who'd been sitting cross-legged on a thin, wicker mat only a few feet before the door. He leapt to his feet the second he saw Galan. With his back painfully straight, he saluted the man and stood mutely at attention. She judged him to be about ten years old and the shirt covering his painfully thin shoulders was almost transparent, doing absolutely nothing to hide the red welts covering his whole torso.

Oh Jesus! His collar-bones were as delicate as a bird's wing and the expression in dark blue eyes had Elizabeth wanting to weep. Devotion, hope and bone-deep terror of a psychopath warred inside a boy who should be playing tag with friends. She had to walk past him or be caught staring.

Galan stopped beside him, forcing the boy to turn to keep him in sight and ensuring that Elizabeth didn't miss a thing. "Oberan, I hope you've been more successful with task I left you with this morning than yesterday."

"Yes, M'Lord. I kept trying and trying and the mark on your jacket is completely gone, I swear it!"

His squeeze of the boy's shoulder only appeared affectionate when, in fact, he was inflicting pain on abused flesh. Oberan trembled, his eyes widened and fixed in a face turned waxy, but he didn't whimper. Satisfied, Galan moved the hand to cup a still smooth chin. "Good. I will inspect it later and if you've been as successful as you say, you won't have to sleep in a chair tonight."

Elizabeth watched the by-play with a horrified fascination. It took a moment for her to realise that by 'no chair', Galan meant 'no whipping'. Abruptly, she wanted to snatch the child away from Galan and hide him behind her back. Galan's eyes met hers, testing, and as she watched, he bent down and laid a soft kiss on the boy's forehead without taking that sick gaze off hers. When he was done playing with both woman and child, he patted Oberon's dark brown hair and sent him away with a gentle push.

As soon as they were alone, she burst out, "Tell me you don't…you aren't..?" Her eyes closed on the thought, "God!"

"Raping children?" he finished for her, hands clasped behind his back now as if they were merely discussing the weather.

"Yes, Goddammit!"

"No, I'm not. In fact, I don't rape anyone. My body has never really been interested in performing that way- with either men or women. I like to watch, though, and gender doesn't matter." Just degradation. That was his tool of choice. He didn't need to spell it out, or the fact that he was enjoying her reaction. What kind of man actively sought to be reviled by others? She didn't understand him and a big part of her mind didn't want to try. Did that kind of darkness spread, tainting as it did?

"Good to know," she said tightly, schooling her face to expressionless. "You had something you wanted to show me?" she prodded, desperate to end this and get away from him. She knew herself well enough to know she was reaching the end of her control. If it snapped, she really might go for him with tooth and nail, and that would likely end badly; for her, Lorne and his men. Vitus Galan was a psychopath who got off on the pain and suffering of others. She had to remember that, and the fact that it wasn't just her life on the line.

He swept out a hand in invitation, "Of course. This way. I keep it in a separate chamber where only my most trusted aides are permitted to enter. A cliché I know, but there you have it."

If she could find a weakness all this will have been worth it, Elizabeth told herself as she followed behind him. It helped to visualise Galan going up one-on-one with John, or Ronon, or heck any of her premiere team, even Rodney McKay.

o-O-o 

Ten people were going down to the planet; John's team, including Rodney who insisted on tagging along, and six marines-most of whom were black ops experienced. Gearing up took an hour with the amount of gear they were taking, as well as covering every inch of exposed skin with black body paint. The paint would have to be removed with wet wipes when they were in a position to assume their disguises, supposing they managed to knock out enough guards and steal the uniforms. 

"Who the hell brought baby wipes?" asked Rodney incredulously, holding up the incongruous package between a thumb and forefinger. Dressed head-to-toe in black including the 'tak vest, he cut quite a dashing figure with the single exception of the package which he quickly stuffed into his pack.

Chief Master Sergeant Clarkson, whipcord lean and taciturn, dug his fingers into a tin of body paint and smeared more black on his neck. "Baby wipes can get pretty much anything off your skin. You try getting this gunk off without any and you'll see what I mean."

"I don't mind the paint, actually." Applying as much as he could get away with on pale skin that rarely saw the sun, McKay confessed, "It feels almost cool in a tough-guy kind of way. I just wish Jeannie, that's my sister, could see me in this get-up. There's no way she could call me geekzoid after that." He had a brain wave and his eyes lit up in the middle of swiping a track of paint over one cheek. "Hey! Do you think I can get a photo before we go-for evidence?" 

If he heard the snickers barely contained under discreet coughs, he chose to ignore them. When nobody volunteered or admitted to having a handy digital camera, he looked crestfallen, "I take it that's a no, then?"

"No to what?" John asked coming into the room. He was already geared up and his eyes glowed from within an artificially darkened face.

"Nothing- never mind." Guessing why Sheppard looked calmer than he had since this whole mess began, as in, the action was about to begin, Rodney swallowed hard, adding, "Just pre-mission nerves from the non-military person on the team."

John nodded, used to his antics just before they were about to hurtle into life-threatening danger, and then addressed everyone, "We just dropped out of hyperspace. ETA is fifteen minutes. Everybody ready to move?"

A chorus of 'Yes, sir!' and various other acknowledgements greeted that announcement.

As they filed out, Ronon fell in behind Rodney and asked, "Why are you going McKay? I thought you preferred to sit out low-tech missions."

Considering he'd had to harangue Sheppard into including him, Rodney didn't take the insinuation well. "Maybe I do, but on this occasion I'm making an exception. Besides, call me pessimistic, but if you're going to get yourselves stuck on the wrong side of something technological, as you always manage to do, I prefer to be there in person to fix it."

o-O-o

"For the stasis pod to slow your aging to that degree, you'd have to spend long periods of time in it. Why don't they use that to try and kill you-rise up in a revolt or something?"

They were back in his office, her wandering curtailed now darkness had fallen. Over ten of the allotted twelve hours had passed and the last communication from Atlantis had been a delaying tactic in her considered opinion. She was trying not to think what that meant in terms of a rescue and people risking their lives.

Under the bare bulb with its metal mount and fixings and seated with his booted feet up on the desk, Galan smiled with a rare and genuine amusement, "I've had a few of those in the past if that makes you feel better. Why, thinking of starting one in the short time you have left?"

Sitting opposite him and emotionally exhausted, Elizabeth was feeling introspective and strangely detached. She waved a hand to indicate the levels above, "They're all going to die anyway and they know it. How do you stop them from deciding it's better to die fighting here than on a Wraith Hive ship?"

"Perhaps by not letting them die. The Wraith are only interested in live humans, not dead ones. I wouldn't be honouring our bargain if I let their crop die while in my care."

She decided not to debate his idea of 'care'. "So you do what-quell any revolt and then inflict pain on a massive scale, debilitate them, break limbs and make sure they can't rise up again?"

"I see you're getting the picture, Dr Weir. Good, I knew you were an intelligent woman."

That comment was like a match to touch-paper. Anger vaporised exhaustion. "Don't patronise me, you son of a bitch." Springing up, she planted her hands on the far side of his desk and glared, saying, "Don't kid yourself either. This has nothing to do with intelligence. There's no rhyme or reason for what you do. No logic or rationale." An energy rose inside her, hot and yet cold, too. Being on the offensive for a change was potent enough to have her tossing caution aside. Every word came out coated with acid. "You're just a sick, perverted man who takes out his own inadequacies on other people." Composing herself and straightening up, she finished coldly, "What's the matter, Vitus, didn't any of the girls like you or something?"

Every barb just slid uselessly off him. Taking his time, he dropped his feet and took a metal case out of a drawer. Inside were small rolled cigarettes. Selecting one he lit it with a match before leaning back, streaming smoke and responded, "Ah-ah! Now you're getting emotional-and trite."

Acrid smoke drifted between them like Wraith fog.

Elizabeth was on a roll though, riding the loathing and past caring about it. "Oh, I get it now. I really do." Sitting again, she crossed her legs, tidily composed if only on the surface, "Thanks to a lucky find of some alien technology, you've had almost two centuries as an adult to figure out what's wrong with you so nothing I say comes as a shock." Still icy, she asked, "Tell me something, though, do you ever think about the future? Or even have an objective except to live at any and all cost?"

He shrugged, eyeing her carefully through the curling smoke with that slight smile still in place, "The Wraith kill to eat. I help provide them sustenance to survive. I'm a survivor-"

"You're a leech, a parasite no better than the Wraith," her eyes narrowed and she finished crisply, "or worse than them."

She could see she'd scored by the way his smile slipped to feral. "Ouch," he said, admitting it. Stubbing the half smoked cigarette out, Galan rose and headed for the nearby sideboard containing glasses and a pot of the tea he favoured.

Staring at his back, she realised she'd found a weakness after all. Vanity. He already knew he was evil, but it wasn't enough, not for him. Galan wanted those around him to fear him more than they did the Wraith. She imagined he achieved that a lot of the time, but he hadn't factored in Earth when he'd snatched them.

Tea in hand, he turned back and saluted her with it. The mocking gesture rubbed her raw.

"You think that hurt? I can do better. Where I come from you'd just be another sick despot that needs weeding out. Hell, even this nightmare set-up you have here has been done before in various forms throughout our history." Her chin lifted while cool disdain hardened her eyes. "I'm not proud of it, but at least we've learned from it. And, while I'll admit it doesn't make you any less deadly, it certainly knocks out originality."

The tea flung in her face stung. The backhand that followed exploded against her cheek and split her lip.

o-O-o

They'd considered sending a Puddle Jumper through the 'gate as a decoy, but John had vetoed the idea, if kept the option in reserve. Another tempting suggestion had been for the Deadalus to simply descend and appear over the compound in a strong message of clear and present danger. In other words, 'we'll fucking wipe you out of existence if you don't give us our people back'. It held a sort of poetic touch that appealed to John, until he had to factor in the possibility that Galan might be reckless enough to harm the hostages. No, stealth was their only real option.

Thankfully, the small explosive charge barely gave a pop and a fizzle when it went off, and wonder of wonders, did the job on the lock.

Clarkson and Henricks took a door each and pulled them back to reveal the belly of the beast, or in this case, one very dark stairwell leading down. Keeping to hand signals only, John sent them down first and followed with McKay. Ronon and the other four marines took the rear. Sticking to the walls, they made their way down. The night-vision goggles turned everything a sickly shade of green, but it was better than being practically blind in the pitch black. There were no lights anywhere and they kept it that way with even the tactical lights of the P90s kept off.

As hoped and planned, the stairs did lead to a corridor and they followed it, efficient, scurrying shadows with a purpose.

Reaching another set of double doors, they all hunkered down. "At least this place is smaller than the one on the Genii home world," hissed McKay, nerves jumping audibly in his tone, "Because a place that big would be impossible to search."

John silenced him with a slashing gesture across his throat. Not that McKay was wrong, because he wasn't. Unlike the buried, sprawling city they'd come across on first meeting the Genii, this bunker was only a fraction of the size due to being a mere outpost. Roughly three miles in circumference, it had been designed to house the Genii Governor, his staff and soldiers, and their families only in the event of an emergency- approximately two thousand bodies. The allied natives would, and did, have to fend for themselves and so got wiped out.

Since making his famous deal with the Wraith, Galan had since either expanded it or turned most of the living space into a prison, holding roughly four thousand inmates crammed together. Intel suggested that the administration level was the lowest- one level down from where they were now. This level was mainly storage, kitchens, power generation and various other miscellaneous functions. The remaining three had been converted into detention areas with automatic locking systems that were likely mechanical. The limited space also explained why the compound above was necessary, holding most of the industrial aspects of the operation. Outside the fence were miles upon miles of flimsily constructed barracks housing the bulk of Galan's military forces.

The Stargate was four miles away across a green and fertile land. Details old and new filtered through John's mind as he kept an eye on the life-signs detector and signalled for another device to be placed and blow open the lock. While Henricks positioned the explosive, he reviewed what they'd found out since arriving, searching for chinks he'd missed in either his plan or Galan's defences.

According to a wide scan performed by the Daedalus, the ruins of a considerably sized city lay a few miles north. There was also evidence of other smaller settlements dotted all over the planet, and all destroyed over a century ago. The scan also revealed that there had once been a tunnel connecting the bunker complex to the city. The one they were in now had been a secret escape route should it become necessary. According to Reesen it served a different function now.

This time the explosive sounded much louder and it was a tense group that pulled open the metal doors on their tracks. As ordered, Marine Private Parr did a tuck and roll through the gap, coming up in a crouched firing position before it was fully open.

Despite the life-signs detector showing only them, a breathless second passed. Then more hand signals. All clear.

Smoothly and silently they moved inside. Once everyone was in, the doors were carefully closed again, undamaged on this side. John was relieved. There couldn't afford to leave signs left behind them or they risked the whole mission. You couldn't rescue dead people. He only hoped Elizabeth, Lorne and the others had been keeping a low profile.

o-O-o

Obtaining uniforms got easier the deeper they went in. The first two were dragged off the bodies of some guards unlucky enough to almost stumble across the Atlanteans. John took one and Major Rieker the other. After that it was a cake-walk. Either John or Rieker would approach and distract while Ronon snuck up and snapped their necks. It wasn't pretty and nobody liked it, but killing was necessary. They couldn't risk tying them up and having them get free later to raise the alarm.

John didn't have to search hard for a justification. Hostage taking was a risky business. Galan should have remembered that.

The uniforms were similar in design to the Genii, but instead of a greyish green, they were entirely black with grey piping and insignia. Hiding the bodies in storerooms along the way, they split up into allotted groups as soon as everyone was suitably disguised. The fact that P90s wouldn't be entirely alien to this planet would be a plus, although the same couldn't be said of the packs they still carried. To reduce the risk of radio chatter alerting the enemy, each radio was wired up with headsets. They'd done all they could and now the search would start in earnest.

Inside the bunker the links to the Genii were also obvious in the stark, utilitarian nature of the design. But, while the Genii's bunker had felt closed off and secretive-Scrooge without the three ghosts- this one was the Reaper himself. Much like the owner, thought John, it was in the business dealing death.

Pipes ran along the ceiling and the edges of the concrete floors. Harsh yellow bulbs glared down, shedding relentless illumination at intermittent stages. Rieker's marines split off to use generous amounts of C4 around the power generators, which would be remote detonated as soon as their people had been recovered, or if they needed contingency plan if everything went south. Ronon and Teyla went up to the next level to start searching the detention areas. John took McKay and the administration level to begin the search from the bottom up. They had a little over an hour and a half left of the twelve Galan had given them to accede to his demands.

Dammit! It better be enough time. Anything else was too screwed up to imagine.

They made it down to the next level via steeply spiralling concrete stairs without being challenged by any of the guards they came across- a fact that was hardly surprising given nobody made eye contact and the uniforms went a long towards making them blend. The guard stations they passed were manned by bored looking individuals, muttering or gambling amongst themselves while smoking endless cigarettes until they were smothered in a greyish brown haze. They barely flicked them a glance as John and McKay walked stiffly by.

"This is encouraging," whispered McKay as soon as they were safely out of ear-shot, "After what Ladon told us, I was expecting rabid at the very least."

"I'm guessing that this place is almost as much a prison for them as for the prisoners themselves-not that I'm feeling any sympathy. Besides, don't count your chickens yet," John warned, thinking he'd have to make some time to explain to a scientist about the concept of tempting fate. If they got out of this alive, of course.

On cue, they heard sounds of a disturbance up ahead and round a corner in the passageway, getting louder the nearer they got. _Crap!_ "You just had to say something didn't you?" he hissed. Sparing the time to shoot a cringing McKay a dark look, John tucked his chin in to minimise how much of his face showed under the brim of his cap. He hoped whoever they were coming up to hadn't been a personal friend of the guard whose kit John was now wearing. Irritated people noticed things they ordinarily wouldn't, and the voice they could hear rising sounded _very_ irritated.

His mind raced, searching for anything that might tip someone off. Unfortunately, he didn't have to search far. The uniform wasn't a great fit. He'd taken the slimmer guy's as he wasn't as beefed up as Rieker, but now he was wishing he had as the shoulders on the jacket were a bit strained. Under other circumstances, he might have been pleased about that. Then there were the packs. They couldn't do anything about them unless they wanted to get caught with their metaphorical pants down at some point in the near future.

Next to him, and as uncomfortable as a teenager on prom night, McKay looked like a puffed up turkey. "Suck your gut in before it pops those damned buttons," he muttered as they got closer to rounding that bend, more to be mean than any real, tactical necessity.

"Hey! I've lost three pounds."

"Sshhh!"

Their first visual of the altercation showed a pair of guards crowding a cowering old man dressed in filthy rags against one wall. With no choice but to pass by or retreat, they got close enough for a good look. No, not crowding; one of the guards had a vice-like hold of a spindly neck and was slamming the old man's head against the wall in time with his harangue. It was like watching a wizened, skinny doll being bashed by a tantruming child. Only that was no doll, and the 'child' was a fully-grown hulking brute in a uniform.

_"Did I ask you for excuses, or tell you to speak, old man?"_

"No, no! Please, I meant no offence" The quavering voice was muffled, pained, confused and terrified.  
_  
_More banging, and a sly grin shared with his colleague_. "And yet you still speak."  
_  
The second guard took a last drag of a foul smelling cigarette and, dropping it on the hapless victim's hand, ground it in with the toe of a polished black boot. The old man moaned, trapped and tormented; caught between two pitbulls with a taste for blood.

Not far away, a dark puddle formed a jagged circle next to a mop and bucket. All of this over spilled water?

John had seen it before and wished to hell he hadn't. Playgrounds to barracks, it didn't matter. The sights, sounds and sneers didn't change, only the consequences did. Back on Earth, there were usually lines that didn't get crossed; here, there was nothing. He hoped to hell the guards got bored and didn't bash the old man's head in, because they didn't dare risk interfering. He wanted to, God! he wanted to, but blowing the whole mission so soon wasn't an option. 

The P90 in his hands weighed heavier all of a sudden, mocking the fact that he couldn't use it. It was so easy, too. All he had to do was lift, aim and squeeze the trigger and they had another two dead bad guys, one saved Grandpa, and he wouldn't feel like a sack of shit just walking by. Of course then the alarm would likely be raised and everything would go to hell in a hand basket with a couple of thousand of these psychos hunting _them_.

Not an option. _Fuck!_

He put one foot in front of the other and prayed McKay would do the same. The old man was slumped, braced between wall and floor, a broken doll now, and the guards were laughing like it was a great joke. Averting his eyes, he blocked out the sound.

_"You can't save everyone, John." _Elizabeth's admonishment came back to haunt him.

He couldn't risk it. 

Yeah, right. You keep telling yourself that, asshole, while you walk right on by.

"Hold! Stop you two! This is a restricted area."

Damn- didn't make it. Everything inside John froze. Stopping and turning, he saw McKay had centre stage. The second guard was eyeing the astrophysicist with abject suspicion. His gut clenched, sinking, and he wanted to kick himself. He should have expected it. Something in McKay's posture or facial expression had probably been screaming disgust at top decibels.

"We can't stop, we're busy," Stiff as a damned poker, McKay tried to bluff, with his chin up at a visibly defensive angle. "We've got important…stuff to do."

John took the two steps back to come alongside McKay. Hands harmlessly at his sides, he tried a smile, "That's right, guys. We've been ordered to report in- something to do with the new prisoners." He could only hope to hell it sounded feasible.

"I wasn't told of this," was the huffy reply. Visibly annoyed, he glanced at his pal, "Did you relay the request?"

"No." Leaving the old man, the other one sauntered over. "I don't know you," he said to John, eyeing him up and down with a challenging light in small, mean dark eyes, "Which section are you assigned to?"

"Erm-"

"Engineering," inserted McKay hurriedly. "Apparently the woman prisoner has offered technology in an attempt to save herself. We're to report and…"

"Go over the drawings she's done," finished John, warming to the theme and aiming for affable. "Can't be accepting an offer and not check the product's valid now, can we?"

Beavis and Butthead, as he'd tagged them, didn't look impressed. They shared another look and Beavis, the smoker, snapped out a hand, "Give me your identification card. I intend to check this with your commander. I'm the night-watch supervisor for this rotation and should have been informed as soon as the order was given."

"Sure, just gimme a minute." Thinking furiously, John forced a bigger smile while searching his pockets, knowing damned well he'd emptied them to fit in his own gear. "I know I've got it here somewhere."

McKay started patting his own pockets, too, "Maybe I've got one."

"You will both have one," Beavis ground out, "or I will discipline you myself."

Losing patience with the futile search, Butthead slammed a meaty hand on John's shoulder, grabbing the jacket to roughly haul him up and over. As his boots collided with the big guy's shins, John's knife slid through skin as if it were butter, ramming up under the chin and through the gullet. Eyes wide, rolling wildly, and choking on his own blood, Butthead dropped him and slid to his knees, clawing at the knife in his throat.

Goggling with shock, Beavis was pulling his side-arm out of its holster when John's desperate backhand clipped his jaw and sent him staggering into the opposite wall. Rebounding, he shook off his daze, and snarling brought the pistol up and around. John froze for a vital second and it was McKay's rifle that let off the single round that punched him in the chest. Blood mushroomed while the weapon's retort reverberated deafeningly up and down the passageway.

"_Shit_!" John exploded, staring down at the two dead bodies.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," babbled McKay, flicking the safety back on as if it would help. "I had to do it."

"I know that."

"He was going to shoot you."

"I figured that one out too."

"Do you think they heard it, raised the alarm?" McKay wasn't calming down. "I've screwed everything up, haven't I? We don't even know where they have Elizabeth or the others." 

"We'll find them." John grabbed Butthead by the ankles and started to drag him. "Get a grip, McKay and help."

Between them they dragged the two men into another passageway that split off from the main. They didn't have time to do more. Retracing their steps they almost ran into the old man who was slowly and methodically mopping up the streaks of blood dragging the bodies had left behind. The mopping had left something not dissimilar to a large, mutant snail trail.

"Thanks," said John, eyeing the bruised and battered face with the blood oozing from a gash by the left temple. "Are you okay?"

Eyes downcast, the old man continued to mop. "You don't belong here."

"No, we just dropped in to look up an old friend."

"Friends are precious," he agreed placidly. "Galan has a woman with him in his office. You will find it at the end of the passage-the very last door."

o-O-o

The gun-shot was muffled but unmistakeable. Half of her face was throbbing and her lip was bleeding sullenly, but Elizabeth's heart still leapt at the sound. _They'd come_. Raising her eyes to meet Galan's for the first time since he'd struck her, she saw sharp suspicion light up in his as well. There was shock too. He really hadn't expected that anyone could breach his security without him knowing. Vanity, she thought with a dart of almost savage satisfaction, you had to love it.

Activating his wrist unit, Galan stood and turned his back on her, growling out an order to someone called Larym to report. Elizabeth kept herself very still and simply listened. No-one responded to the order, or the yelled repeat.

The conclusion was obvious. Galan turned back and glared at her. "Don't get your hopes up, Dr Weir. My men are trained in ways you can never imagine."

"So are mine, Galan." Despite the pain, she almost smiled. "Perhaps that's something you should have considered before starting all of this."

Dismissing her, he got back to the radio.

o-O-o 

Running now, John contacted the others for a status report on the search for Lorne and his team. Getting negative reports back, he grimaced. Crap!

"Be advised the game may be up so keep sharp. We have a lead on Weir. We'll keep you posted and you do the same. Sheppard out."

There was an innocuous-looking door at the end. "Is that it?" asked McKay, puffing for breath as he ran. "Where are the guards?"

Keeping a wary eye on the life-signs detector as they closed the distance, John had been wondering the same thing. "I'm hoping that's who we took out back there."

"What about inside the room?"

"Two life-signs."

Neither spoke about the hope that Elizabeth was one of them. Slowing as they reached it, John gestured for silence and hunkered down by the handle on the right. Tucking the device away, he nodded at McKay to reach up and open the door while he positioned himself to go in low and ready to fire. Blood was pumping hard in his veins and he was jazzed with adrenaline, but years of combat training kept his mind cool and clear. He couldn't afford to worry about what he'd find on the other side. He just had to deal with it when they got there.

Sweat beaded on McKay's brow and his face showed his surprise when the slim metal handle depressed and the door swung open. John lunged through the gap and kept going until he was a few feet inside the room. Steely eyed, he sighted down the rifle at the man behind the desk. Unfortunately, he couldn't shoot because Elizabeth was sprawled over his lap with an arm hooked around her throat to keep her there. The barrel of a Genii pistol was dug in under her right ear. Their eyes locked, messages of relief and hope passed, and then John turned his attention back to the man. He could see a good half of his face, but the risk of the pistol being discharged if he shot him was a high one.

"Colonel Sheppard, I imagine," her captor drawled.

"McKay, shut the door," John said, as Rodney entered nervously behind and to his right. "Lock it too if you can." The racket of a bar being slid awkwardly into brackets splintered the tense silence.

Galan didn't like that. His arm tightened until Elizabeth's eyes bulged at the pressure. "I can shoot her at any time I chose, Colonel."

John's finger hooked around the trigger, trembling with the urge to compress. "You shoot her, I shoot you and you know it." Eyeballing him, he finished, "The same goes for strangling her, so ease up before I decide to try my luck with a shot."

Elizabeth sucked in a breath when the pressure eased, knuckles white as she gripped the arm imprisoning her. "Do you image that we're at an impasse, Sheppard?" asked Galan conversationally. "Because if so, I have to disabuse you of the notion-"

"Let me guess." John interrupted. "You didn't lock the door because you have a couple of hundred men heading this way right now and plan to corner us?"

"Good guess," Galan cocked his head, "And what does it say about you, Colonel, that you smelled a trap and yet walked right in anyway?"

John didn't so much as bat an eye. "That I'm a man who knows he's got a backup plan should it be necessary." McKay was standing just out of his range of vision and he ignored him. He keyed his radio without taking his attention off Galan for even a microsecond. "Rieker, detonate the first wave of C4. Hold off on the second until my command."

On the other side of the desk, Elizabeth's eyes slid shut and she braced.

There was a sonic boom and the room quaked, files and folders slipped, spilling sheets of paper like skin. The overhead light and the desk lamp flickered and then steadied while glass shattered into shards as everything not fixed tumbled to the floor.

Then everything stilled again. "And what did that little explosion achieve?"

Galan was white-faced with fury but still controlled. His grip of Elizabeth hadn't weakened, but neither had he pulled the trigger. John unlocked his jaw. The gamble had worked.

"Let her go and go see for yourself," John suggested. "I won't try and stop you."

"A generous offer, but I don't think so." Galan bared his teeth and dug the pistol in hard enough that Elizabeth winced, "I don't want to lose my new friend here. We've gotten along so well."

More booms shook the room, or rather caused the ground to tremble and shiver under their feet. These were much further away and given the dust drifting down from the ceiling, coming from above. "What's going on?" Rising and forcing Elizabeth with him, Galan's voice was higher-pitched, rising an octave or two, the first sign of cracking.

John was happy to enlighten him, but was careful to keep his tone neutral, "Thanks to a mutual 'friend', we know the set-up here. You've got so many bodies crammed into converted cells that you have to house the bulk of your men top-side. Big mistake. The C4 was a signal and they're being bombed into oblivion right about now from orbit. The cavalry maybe coming, Galan, but they're all you've got now."

The bombardment continued. The efficient Colonel Caldwell was eliminating targets at will.

"So, you brought a ship. I should have anticipated that." Fury tightened Galan's face and a dull red crept into skin that hadn't seen the sun in too long while eyes burning icy fire glared. "Just in case you don't realise it yet, making an enemy of me is the biggest mistake of your life."

"I get that a lot," John deadpanned, moving to keep him covered, careful to keep it smooth and slow. Pissed was one thing, spooked was another. "Let her go, Galan. It's over."

A thud from the door jolted everyone and John cursed at the timing. A conservative estimate was that Galan would have about five hundred men left. Still a sizeable number, and he'd bet a fair few of them were coming to free their leader.

More thuds indicated the door was being rammed by something heavy on the other side. Galan recovered some of his poise. "None of you will get out of here alive, you know. I have my pride and reputation to consider."

"That's something else we hear a lot," advised McKay, heavy on the bravado and before John could frame a response of his own. The words were hardly out of his mouth when a white burst of energy shot past John, enveloping Galan and Elizabeth. Both crumpled soundlessly.

Leaping over, John kicked the pistol out of Galan's hand and hooking an arm around Elizabeth, dragged her a safe distance away. As soon as she was safe, he shot McKay an incredulous look, "You had a Wraith stunner and waited until now to use it?"

"I forgot I had it until just now," was the ultra defensive response. "Just be glad I did or we'd still be trading quips with him."

Elizabeth's pulse fluttered against his fingers. He spared a moment to breeze a finger over the bruise forming on one cheekbone, then said to McKay, "Much good it does us when that door is about to give."

Unlike the metal blast doors guarding the main entrances and exits, secret or otherwise, the interior doors were plain wood. This one was cracking and the brackets holding the bar in place were already starting to separate from the frame, more with each monotonous impact.

Thinking fast, he bent and picked up Elizabeth in a fireman's lift to lower her back behind the desk. Then vaulting over it, he retrieved his pack and the night-vision goggles stowed inside. He was ridiculously glad to get rid of the stupid, dumbass hat. "Grab your pack, get ready to put the goggles back on and help me tip the desk over. We need some cover."

For once McKay did what he was told without arguing. By the time they were crouched behind it, Elizabeth and Galan were showing the first signs of coming around. Rodney was cradling Elizabeth's head in his lap and had Galan's own pistol trained on him. John got ready to return fire when the door finally gave. In position he keyed the radio again. "It's Sheppard. We've got Weir, but we're in a tight spot. Warn the others and blow the last of the C4."

It was doubtful they'd found Lorne and his team yet, but John figured the Major would realise what was going on and act accordingly. Having everyone stuck in pitch black could work for a seasoned soldier in evening the odds a little, especially if the enemy were in disarray. He hoped anyway.

The door gave with a harsh splinter and creak of metal parting from metal. John didn't wait for the first burst of gun-fire before firing himself. Heads popped into view and he went for the kill-shot. A few retaliatory bursts were sent into the room but without a clear line of fire they didn't get close. During a pause, he yelled, "We've got your boss with us here. You keep on shooting at us and you're just as likely to hit him. Think about it."

The cease-fire didn't have time to take effect before more ground shaking booms heralded the lights going out. All of them. 

Fumbling to get his goggles in place, McKay grumbled, "And this is where we wish Caldwell could just beam us up. Have I mentioned I hate bunkers that block RF?"

John was in full agreement with that sentiment. Just as they'd suspected you could communicate with one another inside the bunker, but got nada trying to reach outside. Under the circumstances it was a major pain in the ass. Dragging his pack over, he dug out a stun grenade and the life-signs detector, then rose.

"Where are you going?"

He didn't spare McKay a glance. "Keep an eye on our buddy Galan here. I'm going to try and thin the numbers while I can."

o-O-o

You never got used to losing a member of your team, but you did learn to channel the rage, hoarding it until you could use it. When the first dim explosion reached them Lorne and his men knew exactly what it meant. When the second wave of detonations turned all the lights off, they knew it was time to rock and roll.

The door of their cell opened moments later. A flashlight swept the rank chamber and as he was pressed to the wall beside the door, Lorne could see by the shape of the hat who their visitors where. A fist slamming backwards into an Adam's apple dropped the first guy and Lorne was there to grab his weapon as he went down, choking on his own spit.

Smith and Murphy got the drop on another two while Lorne shot a fourth. After twelve hours locked up in a cell with nothing but a bucket to piss in, it felt great to walk out of it. The problem was they didn't know which direction to take and with only one flashlight in the inky black, a wrong turn could be disastrous. That immediate problem was solved for them when other flashlights bobbed up to the left accompanied by running feet and purposeful voices. Their escape had been discovered.

The fire-fight was brutal. With three men, himself included, Lorne could only hope to hold their position or fall back. Muzzle flashes created a surreal affect in the pitch black passageway.

"We got more coming up on our six," hollered Smith over the din.

Crap! Lorne whirled and because his eyes had adjusted some to the darkness he could just about make out the dim, crouched shapes darting from cover to cover. Just when he was aiming to take one out, he caught the multiple flashes of light. It took a second to sink in that it was a signal. Relief was instantaneous. "They're ours," he yelled back and happily turned his attention back on the bad guys.

A few cautious seconds later, Rieker came up behind him, night-vision goggles on and grinning like a maniac. "You look like you could do with some assistance here, Major?"

"That would be an affirmative." Catching sight of the uniform, Lorne raised a brow. "That ain't exactly regulation, Rieker. Consider yourself lucky you weren't the ones that came into our cell. I wasn't exactly in the mood for asking questions."

Rieker's radio crackled into life.

_"Major Rieker, this is Teyla. We can hear gun-fire. Ronon and I are on the way to offer assistance."_

"Good to know, Ma'am. If you could see your way to clear to coming up behind some unfriendlies, we could have ourselves a nice little crossfire."

_"Give me the coordinates and we'll see what we can do. It may take a few minutes though because a number of the prisoners have realised that with the power off they can now open their cells. The passageways are crammed and we're having to work our way through them."_

"Understood. We'll be waiting."

Lorne gave him a brief questioning look. Rieker grinned again, shouting to be heard, "It's mayhem out there and damned if that doesn't work in our favour."

o-O-o 

"So, while Sheppard goes off doing his terminator impression, I get left holding the baby. Typical!"

The sounds of the mini-war in the passageway outside were reassuring and terrifying all at the same time; terrifying because they had no idea who was on the dying end of those shots. The fact that the weapons fire appeared to be receding he took to be a good sign though.

"Baby?" asked Elizabeth, pointedly.

"Okay, bad metaphor," Rodney admitted semi-sheepishly and waggled the pistol at Galan. "Still, I meant him, not you."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I'd say it's wonderful to see you-if I could see you that is."

It took a second for him to realise she meant the sheer darkness they were in. "Right, yes! Sorry about that." He tapped the goggles, "Unfortunately we don't have any spares and since I'm holding the gun on the evil dictator over there..."

"I understand," she said, reaching out blindly to pat his shoulder. "Speaking of Galan is he moving yet? I can't believe he's still out."

"He's probably faking," he agreed, and silently marvelled at how sanguine he was feeling about that fact, "but I take comfort from the fact that I have both the night-vision goggles and the gun, leaving him blind and unarmed."

"Let's keep it that way."

"Oh, I plan to."

o-O-o

The stun grenade being lobbed right in the middle of the pack made it incredibly easy to turn the passage outside Galan's office into a shooting gallery. A sense of fair play might have made John feel bad about that-under different circumstances. 

By the time he'd stopped tracking targets the floor was a messy tangle of arms and legs. Crouched to limit his body mass as a target, John did another scan of the passage with the life-signs detector. Satisfied he was the only one left alive, he keyed his radio. "This is Sheppard. Everybody report their status."

"_John, this is Teyla. The other teams are with us as well as Lorne and his men. We're currently in a battle in level C of the detention areas_."

So, it was good-news/bad-news as per usual. The sound of rapid and sustained gun-fire made him wince as he began to slowly pick his way crab-like over bodies, heading back towards the office. "You sound busy, Teyla. How's it going?"

"_We have sustained some casualties, but we're holding our own_."

They'd achieved their primary objective and he was pretty darned close to achieving his personal one. All in all, he was more than satisfied with the situation. "The second you can, get everyone out and up to the surface. Caldwell can beam you up from there." Keeping an eye on the device in his hands, John turned and began to jog instead of the cautious tack he'd been using before. They were doing okay. From bitter experience, he knew the tide could turn in a heartbeat and didn't intend to stick around long enough to let it.

"_What about you and the others_?"

"Don't worry, we'll be right behind you. Sheppard out."

He was almost by the door before he noticed that there were only three life signs nearby. His was one, meaning one had either disappeared or died. 

"What the-"

Those last couple of feet seemed to take forever to cross. Reaching the doorway instinct and training took over and he went in hard and low. What he found was Elizabeth and Rodney feeling blindly around the walls. Galan was nowhere to be seen. Relief and fury swamped him in a dual wash of emotion, strong enough that he didn't even try and keep his tone even, "What the hell happened here? Jesus! I leave you for a _few_ minutes…"

They'd dived to the floor when he'd burst in. Now, knowing it was him, they picked themselves up. Both of them were staring in his general direction, but completely unable to focus on him. "Galan kicked me into Rodney and then snatched the goggles off his face. It wasn't his fault, John."

Sitting on his ass and blinking with the effort to see, McKay nodded desperately, "Listen to her. Seriously, it wasn't my fault. I swear it happened in seconds."

John was in no mood to debate it. "He didn't pass me, so, where the hell did he go?"

"We're not a hundred percent sure, but we think he used a secret passage," said Elizabeth, using the wall she'd been feeling her way along as support to stand. "That's what we've been trying to find."

Even in the green glow of the goggles she looked pale, bruised and down to her last reserves. Seeing her that way helped him throttle his anger at losing Galan.

Rodney held up a hand, "Which, I might add, could be good for us as an alternative to running the proverbial gauntlet out there."

He had a point. Raking a hand through his hair and grateful they couldn't see him try and loosen up, John forced himself to relax. Halfway to successful and walking over, he grabbed Rodney's hand to haul him back to his feet.

"Talk about the blind leading the blind," he quipped to ease the tension. "But I see your point. It would be kinda nice to be able to just stroll and not shoot our way out." Aiming for casual, he caught Elizabeth's hand for a brief squeeze, too, saying, "And, since I'm now the only one able to actually _see_, how about I help with that?"

Rodney had other ideas, "Har de har har. How about you put your flashlight on and then we can all see?"

"Good idea. Where's your P90?"

"And that's something else I'll be able to find as soon as I have some light."

Despite the extra light, it still took several minutes for them to find the spot that triggered a section of the right-hand wall to spring open. "Tell me Galan didn't get a weapon, too?" John remembered to ask as he cautiously poked his head in, not wanting to get shot while checking it out.

"No, still got that," McKay was happy to say.

"Rodney gave me the stunner," Elizabeth told him. "Galan didn't stop to try and pry it off me."

Stepping deeper inside the hidden passage, John had to admit it was smart of him. "He probably didn't want to risk his escape by getting himself shot in the process."

"He's all kinds of twisted, but no dummy," she agreed in a tone that had him concerned enough to give her a sharp, assessing look. What he saw had him doubly determined to get her back to safety as soon as possible. Contrarily, he relaxed a little more. Galan could wait. It wasn't like the bastard had anywhere else to go.

"So, have we got an alternative way up or not?" prodded McKay.

"Looks that way," said John, backing back into the room. "There's stairs leading up, but to where I have no idea."

"Well, considering our options are to try and get back to the same place we came in, and risk running into a couple of hundred pissed soldiers, or follow an unarmed man and see where it leads us," said Rodney, "I vote for the stairs."

o-O-o

The stairs did continue their upward run, but there were several offshoots they could have taken. They didn't, and by the time they reached the surface, Rodney was an unhealthy shade of puce, gasping for breathe and dragging himself up by the handrail. The top was protected by a blast-proof metal hatch with the locking mechanism thankfully on the inside.

Pushing it back and pulling themselves out, they came out near to the furnaces-still blazing and with the dark-enshrouded chimneys continuing to pour out smoke and ash. That was all that remained the same. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the night the night-vision goggles weren't needed. The surface compound was in total chaos. Choking drifts of smoke and people were everywhere. Pale, ragged and worn to the bone or not, the freed prisoners were running, limping, heck even crawling to the downed fences in a bid for freedom. Any soldier that tried to stop them was simply mown down by sheer numbers. The watchtowers were ablaze as were the ruins of the camp. Bodies were littered in every direction and the majority of them wore uniforms.

This was one riot that Galan didn't have a cat in hells' chance of quelling. Shrugging out of the jacket and ditching it, John told McKay to do the same. The last thing they needed was some of the prisoners getting drunk on freedom and subsequently ideas about revenge.

"I don't see the others." Shielding her eyes from the smoke and too-bright fires, Elizabeth had to raise her voice over the din to be heard. Next to her, McKay was leaning against one of the massive chimneys, bent over and trying to get his breath back.

"Teyla, this is Sheppard, report."

He got nothing but the frustrating crackle of static.

"Colonel Caldwell, this is Sheppard. I'm with Elizabeth and McKay on the surface. Is there any news on Lorne, Teyla and the others?"

"_Negative_," Caldwell reported, brusquely. "_Yours is the first contact since you went down. Are you ready to be beamed back up?_"

He didn't even have to think about it. "Elizabeth and Rodney are ready and waiting. I'm going back down to see what's keeping the others."

Elizabeth grabbed his arm and swung him around even before he'd finished. "Wait a second, why are you going down? What good can you do? Galan is finished and very probably dead."

"This isn't about Galan-"

"Bullshit it isn't, John." Her voice was hoarse, eyes fierce and her fingers tight, as if she could hold him there out of sheer will-power. "You know damn well that the others are making their way up. They probably just got snarled up with the escaping prisoners. We both know the smart idea is to get back to the Daedalus and wait to hear from them. Losing you down there too makes no sense. I won't allow it."

She'd sensed his reaction to losing Galan after all, John realised. Too bad. "This is a military situation and that makes it my call. You're going up to the Daedalus and I'm going back in to make sure this ends tonight."

Glaring, she dropped her hand like his skin had burned. "It _has_ ended, for Gods' sake!" She waved a hand at the burning remnants of Galan's kingdom, "See for yourself."

Even knowing her temper was fuelled by fear for him didn't stop it igniting his. "Galan has a hotline to the Wraith, Elizabeth. We can't let him use it. He'll hand us over to them in a heartbeat and with a big fat grin on his face- you know he will."

Out of the corner of his vision, John saw Rodney opening his mouth to speak and he rounded on him, "Shut-up, McKay. I don't have time to debate this."

"I've thought of that, too. Radios need transmitters topside to send and receive," she argued. "We can destroy that from orbit, if it's not been blasted into a million pieces already."

"Yeah, but it won't shut his mouth for when they pop in personally for a snack."

"You want-"

Hands on hips, he cut her off harshly, "I want the same as I did when you shot me down while I was trying to tell you Ladon was up to something; as in finish it. Deal with the threat before it gets to be a bigger one." Angrily, he jerked a thumb at his own chest. "I i _knew_ /i something was going on, but you wouldn't have it. And then to make it worse, you brushed me off when I wanted to insist on a neutral planet for the meeting with him. Remember when you said you'd listen to my instincts? Well, if you had maybe Williams would still be alive."

Temper up or not, he was already regretting the outburst as soon as it was finished. It wasn't that black and white and he knew it. As a leader you had to deal with the information at hand, and that's what she'd done. He also hadn't intended to rant, just end the argument, but somehow all of his frustration over the last ten days had come boiling out-like a damned geyser.

She didn't have a counter argument for any of it. Elizabeth's mouth shut with a snap and the fire died in her eyes. Drawing herself up and arms hugging her body, she wrapped composure around herself like a cloak. "Fine," she said coolly. "I get your point, Colonel. Good luck and we'll see you when you get back."

The coolness felt exactly like the slap she'd intended it to be. He didn't blame her for it. The remark about Williams had been underserved and pretty much unforgivable, but a retraction would have to wait for another time.

John keyed his radio, "Caldwell?"

"_Standing by._"

"Beam up Doctors Weir and McKay."

"_Acknowledged._"

o-O-o 

After that not so pleasant altercation with Elizabeth, John was spoiling for a fight even more than he had been before. He intended for the recipient of his foul mood to be none other than Vitus Galan. Of course, first he had to find the son of a bitch. Not as easy as it sounded. The numbers of people on the surface were doubled inside the bunker. It took time for four thousand desperate people to find and use an exit. The casualties of that desperation made it all the more difficult.

It was also kinda worrying that the lights were back on.

Trying to yell loud enough to be heard- for calm and an orderly exit- was a waste of time, but he tried anyway as he threaded his way through the heaving, wild-eyed mass. He found the others by overhearing Teyla trying to do the same. 

Her voice was as soothing as she can make it while shouting, "Please, don't panic. If everyone will go slowly and be patient, you will all be fine, I promise."

In the distance, he heard deeper, male voices making the same sort of assurances. Forced to muscle his way through to the other side of the crowded passage, John shouted her name, "Teyla!" and almost stumbled over a kid with the solemnest face he'd ever scene framed by long, tangled blonde hair.

It didn't take a genius to guess she'd get crushed if she stayed there. Scooping her up to ride his hip was an impulsive decision he didn't stop to analyse. "I won't hurt you," he assured her and tried not to mind that she was stiff and doing her level best to strain free. Obviously even jacketless and wearing a plain black t-shirt, he still looked military to a terrified kid. Mind you, with the rifle in his other hand, sidearm in its holster and goggles wrapped around his forehead, he decided to cut her a break on that. 

Pushing his way through to the other side took a ridiculous amount of effort, especially considering the passage was only about eight feet wide. Ronon met him on the other side, one shoulder propping up the wall and wearing a smirk, "Picked up a passenger, huh?"

"Yeah," said John, hefting the silently squirming bundle of skin, bones and dirty dress to a more comfortable position. She might only weigh about as much as a feather pillow, but she was bony. "And she's real grateful about it too."

Movement in the mass of bodies came as they surged forward, bumping shoulders into John's back. If this kept up he was going to be a mass of bruises come morning. Turning inwards so that the kid was protected by both of them, he asked, "Is everyone here? I heard we had some wounded?"

"One dead and two wounded. Rieker's already gone on ahead with them. You probably passed them and didn't see them in the crowd." Ronon nodded to Teyla who was still attempting to order the flow, "There's only me, Teyla and Lorne left." 

"What about Galan and his men?"

"I've only seen dead ones, recently." Ronon's grin was wolfish. "But we know there's more. We just don't know where."

"And Galan himself?"

"I haven't had the pleasure yet. Why, you going after him?"

"Here, take her." John evaded the question by dumping the girl on him and keying his radio, "Time to go folks. Teyla, Lorne make your way to the surface _now_.That's an order."

Ronon wasn't so easily brushed off, and when John went to pass him he used his unencumbered hand to snag his arm, pointing out, "You didn't answer my question."

Their eyes met. Tensed for another battle of wills, John was relieved to find understanding. "I have to," he said simply and hoped that's all it would take.

After the briefest of pauses, Ronon nodded and let go, "I know you do. Need any help?"

"No, we have him on the run, so I should be able to take care of it on my own." He hoped anyway. John kept that part to himself. "You just get our people topside and back on the Daedalus A-sap." 

"That I can do." Lips curving in another smirk, he gave a lazy salute and finished with a sincere, "Happy hunting, Sheppard."

o-O-o 

Shouldering his way against the tide darned near exhausted him, but it thinned considerably when he reached the stairs leading down to engineering. Somebody had managed to get the lights back on, and John was betting Galan had been there to provide encouragement and incentive.

With the press of humanity behind him, he put the life-signs detector back into action and took the stairs at a steady pace. With the P90 in his right hand and crossed with the device in his left, John stepped off the stairs and into a blackened corridor, following the smell of grease, burned oil and the wholly unmistakeable stench of high-quality, high-velocity military explosives. The pack on his back was a reassuring weight as he jogged cautiously down the length of the passage. He could hear voices, urgent, busy and purposeful. One stood out over the rest, vibrating with fury. Galan was trying to whip his men into shape. Given the relatively small number of life-signs showing he was having to do so via his wrist radio.

Lips curving, John took a moment to enjoy imagining what a promise of freedom had done to thousands of people by way of turning them against their oppressors. Even unarmed, stopping that many would be like trying to halt a tidal wave. He'd lay odds that the remaining troops were either dead or hunkered down and waiting out the storm. The smart ones would realise that the game was up and head for the Stargate, figuring the next time the Wraith came they would be the ones on the menu.

Something inside him loosened with the knowledge. No matter how this ended or what had finally brought it about, there was a part of him fiercely glad they'd come. Everyone had their personal demons and his were being given a temporary free reign. He'd apologise to Elizabeth later, and deal with the fallout when it came.

Stopping with his back to the wall next to the doorway housing the voices, John eased the pack off his shoulders and dug out his last stun grenade. Hooking the straps back on, he crouched down and gathered himself to lunge across the opening with its buckled and useless door, tossing the grenade deep into the cavernous room as he did.

There was a shout and then a boom. John went in fast and used the huge generators and wrecked control panels as cover while he took out the three men staggering like Saturday-night drunks, stunned by the high-pressure wave of ignited aluminum and potassium percolate. Of Galan there was no sign.

He must have slithered out of harms way. "Dammit!"

John lost several minutes trying to find the escape route the slippery bastard had used. A hatch with a ladder dug into the cement wall. Shining his light into it only showed more ladder. It was a risk, but seeing no other choice he followed. Before he reached the bottom, hot lead shot sparks off the ladder inches from his fingers and one almost parted his hair. Temporarily blinded by fragments of cement, he had no choice except to simply let go and let himself drop. Landing with a bone jarring thump, he dragged his ass to the wall and returned fire. If there was any cover available he couldn't see it.

He was a sitting duck.

o-O-o 

Elizabeth stopped pacing to stare down at the planet, shadows playing in her eyes. "Where the hell is he?" The question was pitched low enough that no one over-heard. Anger and hurt hadn't stood up against anxiety and she mourned the cushion of both. As unfair as he'd been down on the surface, she wanted him safely back on the Daedalus, _now_.

Damn it! What was the point of having something to brood over, if worry wouldn't let her?

Behind her, the bridge was packed, or seemed that way, with Ronon taking up space merely by being there and Rodney hovering, for once at a loss with what to do with his time. There were no sub-light engines to be fixed, alien viruses to defeat, neural networks to tap into, time-dilation fields to be nullified, master codes to be broken. With nothing to occupy his brain, paranoia was running rampant.

"This is a bad idea." His gaze bounced from Ronon to Elizabeth as she wandered back over. "We should have stopped him. We came here to rescue you and we'd already done that." Frustrated, he threw up a hand. "This is like the opposite of having your cake and eating it."

"He was determined to go," she reminded him, accepting the coffee handed to her by one of the crew. Her hands were shaking, so she wrapped them around the warm metal. "You heard him; it was his call and he wanted Galan eliminated as a threat."

Careless of the scalding liquid, Ronon took a swig from his mug. "If Galan got a chance to tell the Wraith about Atlantis we'd be in big trouble."

"Yes, yes, I understand that. I just think we should have nuked the place from orbit or something."

"Aren't bunkers built to withstand that?" She'd thought of it herself and that was only one of the reasons why she'd discounted it. "I thought that was the point of them."

Moving aside to let one of the crew past, he shook his head, "With the exception of a few such as the SGC, there's not many that would survive a direct hit. That's why they're generally built in secret and away from military targets."

"Be that as it may, poisoning a good proportion of a planet just to kill one man is extreme, Rodney," she pointed out. "Besides, there may still be innocent people in there trying to get out."

Striding back onto the bridge, Colonel Caldwell caught the tail end of her reply. "A nuke wouldn't necessarily get the job done, and we wouldn't know about it one way or the other. We need the kill confirmed before we can assume the threat is gone."

Rodney stared at him in disbelief, "You know, I love how you military types talk about killing a human being like it's a duck shoot, or…or fly fishing or something."

"We wax lyrical about it in the paperwork," Caldwell returned dryly, "which is why it takes so long to fill out." He cocked his head, "Anyway, I thought we'd already established he's not exactly a pillar of society."

"Well, I doubt he would have won any Mr Humanity awards if that's what you mean." Rodney waved that off, "Look, all I'm saying is that I don't get why he had to go alone. This hero complex of his perplexes me."

Elizabeth's brow lifted and she had to smile, "This from the man who steps in front of loaded guns and manages to throw himself into danger every bit as often, all in the name of saving someone else."

That nonplussed him for about a second. "As complimentary as that is, I have to point out the obvious difference between myself and Sheppard, or one of them anyway. My sense of self-preservation isn't directly proportional to whether there's another life at stake. He's alone down there, and if he manages to paint himself into a corner, he won't have that extra incentive to get himself out of it."

Silence fell as everyone considered that, Rodney, because he immediately tried to back-track. "I'm not saying that'll happen this time. I mean, it is only one man-okay, one man and his army, but we killed most of 'em, so it's not like he's going to be out-numbered a hundred to one or anything like that…" Trailing off he looked resigned, "I'm not helping am I?"

"No," said Elizabeth, "But we appreciate the effort."

Needing some time to think, she turned to leave and Ronon blocked her way. "Do you want me to go back down after him?"

She ached to give a resounding 'yes', but the rational side of her mind refused to let her. He could realistically be on his way back by now. "No, we'll give him some more time. If he's not back in twenty minutes though, I'll be calling for volunteers."

o-O-o

Still half blind, John shuffled backwards on his ass, following instincts that insisted he keep moving while swiping at his streaming eyes to try and clear them. He'd lost the goggles during his desperate drop and tumble, not that it mattered with the lights back on. 

The fact that there were no more shots aimed his way wasn't as reassuring as it should have been. For all he knew they could be sneaking up the damned corridor to slit his throat. His eyes were stinging, stabbing protesting prickles, but it was the vulnerability of it that freaked him out. Squinting, he tried to focus, but saw only the blurred walls of the passage that appeared to merge organically with floor. They didn't- merge, that is- it was just an illusion thanks to the flood of water his tear-ducts were inflicting on him. The plus point, though, was that he hadn't seen any man-shaped shadows slinking along the edges, and he took what comfort he could from that.

Where the hell were they? No way was his luck was good enough that his desperate burst of return fire had taken whoever was ambushing him out.

As soon as could see well enough, John went to find out. His footfalls sounded unnaturally loud, giving him away to the unseen enemy, but nobody reacted and the passage remained eerily quiet. At the end, there was a sharp ninety degree corner. There, he found the sprawled body of a boy who couldn't be older than sixteen. Frozen blue eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling in a face that had probably barely seen a razor. "Ah, _shit_!" If the dumb kid hadn't got all excited and jumped out from behind his cover he wouldn't be dead, John would.

He'd been lucky after all. The bloody, destructive results of several rounds punching into the jacketed torso were all-too obvious, and the cement floor was awash with dark, bitter red. Swallowing back the bad taste in his mouth, John hunkered down and brushed a thumb and forefinger over the eyelids to close them. If possible, the smooth face looked even younger with them closed.

In the military, the religious and the atheists were split down the middle in numbers. John didn't give it much thought, but considered himself in the latter group. Still, he meant what he said, when he said, "Better luck with the next life, kid."

He had a vague idea that he'd meant a sort of reincarnation deal- seemed only fair since this life had been so crappy- but really anything was better than nothing.

His luck held, and the sporadic resistance he did meet was scattered and lacking in both numbers and strategy enough that it only slowed him down, especially considering he had forewarning of their position and numbers, and a bag of nasty tricks that they didn't. If nothing else, the mild resistance gave him a strong clue that he was heading in the right direction. They were protecting something. By the time he reached a T-junction with the left side ending in a set of double doors and flanked by a pair of nervous guards, his pack was empty of anything except spare clips for the P90 and his Glock.

Since they hadn't seen him peer around the corner, the simple approach seemed best. Sitting just his side of the corner, he flattened himself so that his head and upper body showed and fired his side-arm simultaneously. Both crumpled, folding in on themselves, sliding down the wall to the floor. Now the path was clear. 

Behind the doors was the jackpot, or would have been if Galan had been visible in his quarters. Instead, there was another kid, this time a boy. Skinny, with a mop of dark hair and luminous blue eyes, he stared wide-eyed at the armed stranger who slipped through the partially open doors.

"Hi," said John, flashing a too-wide grin while circling the room and checking they were alone, "I don't suppose you know where your boss went?"

Galan's quarters were big, made bigger by the lack of clutter or personal items over and above necessary furniture. He obviously liked space. In the centre of the room, the boy didn't answer - just kept on staring, tracking John's every move and hardly moving a muscle. A silent, still sentinel. He was thin and trembling hard enough to resemble a cornered, starving stray. Satisfied the room was empty save for the two of them, John squatted down so they were eye-level and tied to look as non-threatening as possible under the circumstances. "Look, kid, I'm not going to hurt you, Scouts honour. I just wanna know where Galan went."

So what if he couldn't possibly know what a Scout was- John reckoned the tone and intent would get through. He'd heard it somewhere, or maybe he'd read it-whatever.

"Did you see where he went?" he asked again.

An arm rose and pointed to the far wall and into the corner. Considering that Galan had special powers and could disappear into smoke, John guessed he was dealing with another secret passageway.

Patting one bony shoulder, he said, "Thanks. I owe ya one." Then, resigned to yet another pursuit, John straightened up and walked over to the section of wall the boy had indicated, searching visually for any likely release mechanism. All the walls were bare, with the exception of this one. In the centre was an old, sepia photograph in a heavy black frame. It showed a grim-faced woman in a drab dress and a small boy dressed in a smock. The woman was seated and bore a strong enough resemblance to Galan to be a relative; his Mother perhaps? John was surprised he'd had one, never mind kept a momento.

Lifting it off, he found a circular hollow roughly the size of his fist. He didn't get a chance to find the mechanism.

A hiss of indrawn breath, the slide of metal on leather and a sudden rush of air behind John was sufficient warning to make him turn, but not avoid the stab of the knife altogether. The knife was aimed at his back and kidneys, but because he'd moved in a half-turn, the blade sliced deeply across his hip through his T-shirt instead. Agony was instant, fiery and brought him staggering down on one knee. The back-swipe was angled for his face and missed only because he managed to duck back hard and fast enough.

Shock held John immobile, apart from his right arm instinctively dropping down to cover the wound. The boy's face was a snarl of thwarted rage and he came again, his hand raised and knife in a position to stab and hack into flesh. Into John.

Jesus Christ! The kid was trying to kill him.

"What the- hey!"

Catching that thin wrist as it raced towards him, John hesitated to squeeze and risk breaking a bone. Big mistake. Shoving him away over-balanced the boy, but he simply threw himself back into the fight. That first, semi-successful strike had weakened John. Worse, he was slippery with his own blood within seconds. The boy was slippery, too, and ferociously determined. Yells to stop did nothing. His unwillingness to hurt a child meant he suffered some more cuts before finally losing his temper enough to slam the hand holding the knife on the floor, hard, forcing small fingers to let go of the knife.

He didn't release the hand, and in fact snagged the other one, too, "Stop! Just stop, dammit!" Fury and pain made his voice a desperate bellow.

Screwing up his face, the boy lifted his head off the tiles and spat at him.

If that didn't top off his day, realising too late that someone else had come up him did. Rolling to the side got him away from the boy, but not enough to avoid the slim metal stick with a rubber handle in Galan's hand. When the metal tip touched his skin, John's back arched in a spasm of instantaneous, helpless torment.

"You see, Colonel," said Galan casually when the hoarse screams died away, "children are never as helpless as you like to believe. A useful tool, don't you think?"

Groaning and curling in on himself, John couldn't even remember where he'd dropped his rifle. Then all such considerations splintered as another wave of white-out agony slammed his head and torso on the floor.

o-O-o

"Are you sure you want to do this, Major?"

Fully geared up, Lorne didn't blink at the question, or hesitate with his answer, "Yes, Ma'am. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

Elizabeth had expected him to say something like that, but felt compelled to make sure given what he'd been through. Next she turned her attention to Ronon and Teyla. "Colonel Sheppard's been gone too long. I'm trusting the three of you to find him and bring him back."

When they turned away to begin doing just that, she turned too, and met the knowing gaze of Colonel Caldwell. Pressing damp palms together in front of her, she willed the jittery tempest of anger and worry inside her to subside. 

Unfortunately, she got the impression he wasn't fooled, especially when he crossed his arms and said, "I still say Colonel Sheppard had the right idea. With his Wraith connections, Vitus Galan is a threat that needs to be eliminated."

"Vitus Galan needs to be eliminated, period," she snapped back with enough bite that he rocked back on his heels, "But that's not the issue here. Rodney was right. He shouldn't have gone down there alone."

"I don't disagree with that, Dr Weir," Caldwell cast a glance around the bridge to remind her they had an audience and he didn't appreciate her snapping at him in front of his crew. "However, I also understand that his priority was to ensure the rescue operation was completed successfully. The wounded may not have made it out if he'd taken anyone with him."

He had a point damn him. She hated being the unreasonable one. "You're right," she said tiredly, after one carefully inhaled breath, rubbing two fingers between her brows. "Sorry, it's been a long day."

And it wasn't over yet.

o-O-o

Galan let him recover between bouts enough to attempt to crawl away. Not that he got more than a few inches with his whole body feeling as if it was on fire and his muscles like jelly. The boy was crouched in the gap between a sideboard and tallboy, blank shiny eyes never wavering off his master as Galan stalked John.

The worst was Galan asking him how it felt and doing it more if he didn't gasp out some kind of answer. John didn't have a clue what gibberish he'd spouted, anything to end the pain.

Now, the smell of singled flesh abused his nostrils, particularly since it was his own. His fingers curled around the edges of the woven mat he was hoping to cross before he died. You gotta have ambition, he told himself, and a bubble of mirthless laughter formed in his gut. He managed to push himself up enough to roll over and off the mat. Ambition achieved and on his back, he opened his eyes to slits and saw the metal rod reaching out again.

_Screw this!_

When the rod touched him and electricity arced through every cell in his body, John already had the mat in one hand and the power of the charge gave his pull a hundred times more strength as he went into spasm again. Yanked off his feet, Galan overbalanced, falling backwards. Maybe it was the knowledge that this was his only chance that made the difference; this time John managed to find enough strength and co-ordination to reach for his sidearm. He'd tried a dozen times before but hadn't gotten close to it before agony ripped his fingers away.

The bastard had enjoyed letting him try.His arm shook and his fingers felt like rubber, fumbling for the safety and then the trigger and unable to find either. _C'mon, c'mon you've done this a thousand times_. Galan got to his feet, eyes wide as he lunged with the rod extended. John pointed the Glock and found he didn't have the strength to lift his arm enough for a kill-shot so shot him in the ankle instead.

Blood and bone exploded from the force of the ripping impact. Galan went down with an inhuman howl. Hitting the deck, he started to roll and squirm as he felt some agony of his own. John's arm flopped with sheer exhaustion, too weak to finish it.

The same couldn't be said for Galan. His screams quieted and he struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. White-faced, teeth clenched and drenched with sweat, he latched his gaze on the boy, and sobbed out, "Kill him! I order you."

Moving was impossible, defence too. John closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the little kid in white with the dark mop of hair streak over to him. He could feel himself fading, but caught the rush of sound and felt the too-slight weight leap on his belly, skinny legs on either side of his waist. He couldn't see, but he could visualise the knife blade, glinting, hilt held in two hands, poised to be driven into his chest. His sidearm was still in his lax hand. Even had he been able to, he didn't consider trying to bring it up and use it.

John didn't know what the hell happened next, not until later. He would remember a crash and then something knocking the boy off him with incredible force. Blackness sucked him in before he could figure out why he was still alive.

o-O-o

It was the voices that dragged him back.

"John, I want you to take some of this water. Come on, you can do it."

"We need to get him to a doctor, A-sap."

"He's coming around, I think."

"He better or I'm killing this sack of shit right here." Lorne sounded icily pissed.

Someone was holding his head and pressing something against his lips, something that dripped cool, fresh water. Head swimming and not even sure if he wanted to make the effort to rise up to consciousness, John just let the careful drips of water sooth his swollen throat.

Teyla- he knew it was Teyla by that soft voice and the scent of her- took the canteen away. Before he could protest, the delicious coolness was spread over his face and neck. Cranking open his eyes, he was met with the relieved smile she gave him when she realised he really was coming around.

Competent hands lift his ruined t-shirt, fingers dancing over his torso and checking the damage. She didn't waste time. "You've lost a lot of blood and I don't want to risk you losing more when we move you, so I'm going to dress the worst of your wounds. It may sting a little." There was an urgency in her voice that puzzled him because everything was a little fuzzy, sorta floating. The sensation was kinda nice.

He drifted in and out while a field dressing was put on his slashed hip and the numerous other wounds on his body. The worst of the burns were treated with a smear of antiseptic that cooled and stung all at the same time. While he was lying there bits and pieces floated back through the numb daze. With the return of his memory, he had a bad moment thinking Galan might have gotten away while he'd been out. Whipping his head around, he saw he'd worried for nothing. Galan hadn't moved, headed towards unconsciousness himself and delirious with pain. Standing over him and covering him in case he showed any signs of reviving, Lorne showed not a whit of sympathy.

The surge of adrenaline finished the job of clearing John's head. On her haunches at his side, Teyla was blocking the rest of the view. He couldn't see his would-be assassin anywhere and assumed Ronon, whose voice he recalled hearing, had him under control. Teyla kept up a monologue the whole time she was tending to him and he let the words wash over him. Some of it stuck out.

"Elizabeth sent you after me?" he croaked.

"She was worried about you. We all were."

"Thanks!" There wasn't much else he could say. As it turned out they'd had good reason to be.

"You're welcome." Finished patching him up, she asked, "Can you move yet?"

"Sure," he quipped, dreading it, "Why not?"

Despite assistance, dragging himself up to sit upright was every bit as bad as he'd feared. Muscles protested, vehemently, and he didn't want to even think about the skin around his wounds stretching. His bitten-out, "Ow! That hurt," was an understatement.

"I'm sorry, but we have to move soon. I'm afraid that some of Galan's men may have lingered behind and come looking for him."

"Good point. Help me stand."

She did and he tried not to send them both tumbling when his knees decided locking was out of the question. Upright if not exactly steady, he could finally pinpoint Ronon. The big man was crouched next to a crumpled figure in white. The boy was all arms, legs and hair- and too still. Ronon was scrubbing his face with both hands. The line of his body was tense, angry and with a hint of despair.

Everything inside him went still. The calm before the storm. John had a good idea, but asked anyway, "What happened to him?"

Ronon answered without looking at him, "I had it on stun, but it still killed him." Their eyes met when the one-time Runner finally turned his head. The anger was expected, but it was the first time John had seen true guilt on his face. "He was just a kid, and I killed him."

Teyla was having none of his guilt, "And it's a terrible tragedy, but he was going to kill John. You had no choice."

And John knew he was going to have to live with that statement every bit as much as Ronon- more even because if he'd willing to be rougher during that first attack, Galan wouldn't have been able to sneak up on him and this might have ended differently.

"I say the blame lies squarely with him," interjected Lorne, gesturing with the muzzle of his P90 to Galan. "This whole place was just one big twisted hell and he was directing all of it."

Logically, John couldn't have agreed more. Logic didn't have anything to do with the black anger growing inside him though. Later he'd think he may have actually heard the crack in his head. _Snap._ "Are either of the furnaces still functional?"

Lorne cocked an interested brow, "Why- you thinking of giving him a warm send-off?"

"I think it's the least we can do."

o-O-o 

EPILOGUE

_The severest justice may not always be the best policy  
(Abraham Lincoln) _Courtesy: Eigen's Political & Historical Quotations._  
_  
So, we watched his skin peeling back and the flesh melt. He was conscious for the first few minutes, tossed on top of a pile of smouldering bodies, but the writhing soon stopped when his clothing caught fire. We couldn't hear the shrieks over the dull roar of the furnace. I'm glad about that actually, especially for Teyla. Mostly she kept her eyes averted. Lorne was uncomfortable, but he had his own reasons for wanting revenge. Ronon and I, well, we watched it all. Up close and personal. Or as close as several inches of heat-proof glass would let us.

Later, back onboard the Daedalus we simply reported the fact that Galan was dead. When we left there were still prisoners queuing to step through Stargate. Of Galan's men, or what was left of them, there was no sign. The debrief back on Atlantis was more thorough. I considered lying, but in the end I was too damned tired and sort of hollow inside despite 24 hours enforced R'n'R in the infirmary. Hearing how we'd killed Galan, Rodney lost his appetite and most of his colour, Elizabeth folded her hands on the table and closed her eyes, while Caldwell sat back in his chair wearing an I-didn't-hear-that expression on his face.

Then the fun really started. I got a dressing down, though, and for once, Elizabeth was economical with the truth when she wrote her report to the SGC. I don't think she's forgiven me for that yet, or Teyla for Galan's final moments. Mostly I've been too tired to push at those barriers. It's been a few weeks and I'm still struggling to sleep. 

At first, I resented the fact that they were judging me, then realised the resentment was a knee-jerk reaction to the fact that they was right to worry about the line I'd crossed-hell, more like leapt over. I would do the same in their position. As Caldwell acidly pointed out, a bullet in the brain would have been just as effective and a whole lot more acceptable. I think it's fairly obvious to everyone that I'd let the darkness of that place infect me, and dragged most of my team and another officer down with me. Not cool.

I have some serious making up to do. I'm still working on a plan of how to accomplish that.

On the topic of assholes being in the wrong; Ladon, I almost forgot about him. Elizabeth verbally kicked his butt into next week and he went back home soon after we got back, happy enough to be rid of a problem. I got a kick out of telling him he's got a brand new one. The Genii are officially on our shit-list and barring a miracle of epic proportions, this time they're staying on it.

I'm hoping my stay on that list is brief.

Finis.


End file.
